| Yo, I don’t really like to, but, um
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| Yo, I don’t really like to, but, um
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| I put the smack down like it’s rehab
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| Make sure that there’s no relapse with these cats
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| Y’all cowards couldn’t rap this dope with a Zig Zag
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| I let my lips drag, spitting with that big swag
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| It’s sad all these wannabes
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| Wanted to be Jay then K. West, wanna be
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| Star of the Roc, kid, you’re not Sean Connery
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| But like The Rock I’m surrounded by watery flows
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| Still it really don’t bother me
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| Fake ballers, weak game, less polished than Ben Wallace’s while I breed
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| Quality music getting quality spins
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| Y’all stay second rate Chingys at the Quality Inn
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| Now that’s a joke to a real rapper
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| I could decrease the skill factor and I’d still make you feel whacker
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| Ah gee, now you got me cocky
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| Cats say, «You the illest,» I’m like, «Nah b, nah b, nah b»
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| Well OK, probably, but that’s just only cause I rap like it’s my hobby
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| Not a jobby-job all sloppy, getting off-key
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| Y’all Mad as March trying to knock off the top seed
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| I’m in the mix like Roxy
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| So hot he even get props from neo-Nazis
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| Now I don’t really like to
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| Yo, I don’t really like to
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| I don’t really like to
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| I don’t like to start verses with I, y’know, but, um
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| ITunes, eye-patch, I’m in the same boat where the pirates be
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| Tell 'em I’m down with that pirate steed
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| They don’t buy it, I say don’t buy it, pirate me
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| If it’s ill, it’ll spread virally from my received
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| Folders to appearing in the love that the crowds show
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| If it sound dope, keep it on the download
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| Keep it real, player, with the volume cranked
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| And I’ll be balling like Tim Duncan, calling bank
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| Cash banked it, but the bank said
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| That my check’s been bouncing like the bankhead
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| So I’m bad like credit while they bear styles
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| More plain than the air miles
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| Borrowed metaphors from mega-stores to get rewards
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| We get 'em open automatic like the exit doors
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| And take a step higher, y’all just gotta press the floor
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| And step out, in faith, it’s OK to confess doubt
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| Knowing how it feels to be stressed out
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| Tribe called Mapquest-style poems I sketch out
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| To find the best route home, don’t
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| Live in your dome for too long
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| You end up like that Tiffany song, thinking we’re alone
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| We all get older, we don’t all get grown
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| Cause some of y’all don’t really like to
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| Y’all don’t really like to
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| Y’all don’t really like to
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| Y’all don’t really like to |