| P! |
| Ha ha
|
| Uhh, let’s go
|
| Yeah, P beat up the beat, bastard
|
| Reach for my heat and sleep deep in the green pasture
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| Mean rapper, fuck is you lookin' at?
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| Fuck a autograph nigga, Ruck is a crooked cat
|
| Uhh, look at that. |
| Where you get them pants from?
|
| Uhh, look at that. |
| Where you get that dance from?
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| Pssh! |
| I don’t dance for niggas
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| I take trips, flip shit, and advance on niggas
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| This is anti-bitch boy, whack niggas fall back
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| This is the verse that niggas could never call whack
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| The illest nigga in Nebraska, I’m Method Man
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| Clown nigga, yellow leather, weapon fam
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| Uhh, and I smoke a lot too
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| Coke on black shirts make polka dots, troop
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| Ha ha, y’all get it later
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| P-Body the great, but it get greater
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| Fuck wit' me!
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| Yo, listen
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| Uhh, slap when the sket blow
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| Bum-ass nigga, no snaps on the petrol
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| I’m a Mastercard, pa, you just a Metro
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| Straight train fare, I’m not believin your chain-wear
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| Coke blow, nose glow, nigga no reindeer
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| On my grind, sometimes I be rockin' (I be rockin')
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| Step to your home, big sket, weapon is chrome
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| No slot, «6 Minutes» Doug E. Fresh on the phone
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| Listen, gat be quick, gat be nimble
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| You strapped but you whack cause you sat wit’cha back to the window
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| I’m Chow Yun-fat rap, gat to your temple (Bong!)
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| Stay in your lane, lame, plain and simple (yes)
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| I dedicate this to the 85'ers
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| Wholeheartedly ham stage divin' Mercedes drivers
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| Whoo! |
| I will pop you, black
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| The big head scientist writin', this that Yakub rap
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| See you in hell! |
| P! |