| Yo! |
| Listen…
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| Afghanistan, bombed out, depleted
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| I’m weeded, needin' an Ativan
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| Run up on a rapper when rappin', that’s when I slap a fan
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| Bone-crunch you niggies, the gypsy needin' a caravan
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| Half-man half-amazing, Mandela
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| You know the flow is so hard, tell her, Duck Down
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| Is the label, but — fuck a record deal
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| Broke after I smoke and the motherfuckin' sucker meal
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| P! |
| Keep ignorin' my shit, B
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| I’ll punch your shit off like the Story of Ricky
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| All in my face like a rap battle
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| Fuck around and catch all of the eight when the gat rattles
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| That hardcore rappin' is played out
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| Till I hardcore slap you and ask you what’s played out
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| (What's played out, man?) P! |
| Indeed the grown
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| Squeeze the chrome, please believe it nigga, Caesar home
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| Verse two, sunroof casket for the earth dirt view
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| Work wet, wet work with the sket wet, who?
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| Vest protect chest, but never get neck duke
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| Dave Tua, fist of rage, I wave Rugers
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| Engage shooters in battles, better behave, junior
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| Ay yo, kill noid paragraph, crack ground, shatter glass
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| Ill boy, Madagas', bitch with a fatter ass
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| Top on the rooftop, spit shine my shit
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| Pitch grind my strip, switch crime rhyme hits
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| Got a towel, better throw it in Frontline bangin', P, cover me I’m goin' in War path is bloody, damaged from one sword stroke
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| 48 tracks to slide and the board broke
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| What it do, coke kilogram crew (what up?)
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| The bars is barbaric, Encino Man 2
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| Paul Bunyan on the corner with the onion
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| In the booth I’m the dragon breathin' fire out the dungeon
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| Fuck a metaphor, fuck you think the metal for
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| Put the mic down, fuck rap, peddle raw
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| Street fighter, Juxx strike like Bison
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| The nigga ghostwriting for Price on Mic Tyson |