| Aww yeah, the A to the motherfuckin' G is back
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| Word to the motherfuckin' Goodfellas
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| I got two of my boys here, newest members of the D.I.T.C
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| Speak up
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| Yo this the Big motherfuckin' L from 139 and Lennox, you know what I’m sayin'?
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| Sayin' what’s up to Showbiz & A.G. 'cause they got it goin' on!
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| Yo, this the baldheaded assassin, D’Shawn E. Thunder
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| Representin' with my peoples Diggin' in the Crates
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| Peace to my brothers on 1−2-9, Uptown
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| Aww yeah, you know what I’m sayin'? |
| Look out
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| D.I.T.C. |
| in the motherfuckin' effect, lethal!
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| («I'm the calm one, but my crew is sorta sick»)
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| Yeah, Big L is the first to represent
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| Yo, on the mic is Big L, that brother who kicks flav, God
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| Known for sendin' garbage MCs to the graveyard
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| I pack a gat, not a slingshot
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| Step to this and get an ass-whoopin' like Rodney King got
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| Or get beat to your death like Cochise
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| My laws is no peace, fuck the police
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| MC’s be braggin' about cash they collect
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| But them chumps is like Ray Charles
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| 'Cause they ain’t seen no money yet
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| Trash rappers I tax and spark
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| I be wettin' niggas up like water rides in Action Park
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| A nigga stuck me and that ain’t funny son
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| So I got money Dunn, they wet him and his honey bun
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| 'Cause phony faggots I froze, it’s a fact
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| I flip fast on foes with fabulous fantastic flows
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| L is the rebel type, I’m rough as a metal pipe
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| Fuck a Benz, 'cause I could pull skins on a pedal-bike!
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| Props, I got the most, no MC comes close
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| Coast-to-coast, shows I host, foes I roast, adios, I’m ghost
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| («I'm the calm one, but my crew is sorta sick»)
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| Grab the mic D’Shawn, because you gotta represent
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| Yo, street corners in New York is the place this nigga stand
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| With a machete I’m a crazy Eddie Scissorhands
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| Born with such a thirst to kill
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| I can tap 200 quarters from a 50 dollar bill
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| Cutting bitch-niggas down with a hundred pound axe
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| Like I was raised by psycho-crazed lumberjacks
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| So in a battle I be stabbin'
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| Choppin' MC’s like trees, piece-by-piece buildin' cabins
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| I’m a maniac magician, abra cadabra
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| Makin' pain appear 'cause I’ma grab a
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| Rusty chain to make a noose; |
| to choke your ass so hard
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| You’re spittin' fuckin' Adam’s Apple juice
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| So come check the magic show by D’Shawn
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| And witness the way I put you to death with a magic wand
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| Turnin' your home to a casket
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| Turn your wife into a widow and your son into a bastard
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| 'Cause I love to keep MC’s sufferin'
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| Beggin' for big, heavy bags of Bufferin
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| Baseball battin' 'em, splattin' 'em
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| So many homicide records, my cases went platinum
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| D’Shawn is nice
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| Known for givin' out head cracks without touchin' dice
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| Just pain and punishment from the Boogie Down Bronxter
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| D’Shawn the maniac street monster
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| («I'm the calm one, but my crew is sorta sick»)
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| It’s time to get funky, so you better represent
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| («I'm the calm one, but my crew is sorta sick»)
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| C’mon Lord Finesse, 'cause you gotta represent
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| It’s the F-I-N-E-double S-E, don’t play or stress me
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| 'Cause that shit don’t impress me
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| I make papes off the shit I create, and then dictate
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| So get your motherfuckin' shit straight
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| I got skills and I’m hard to kill
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| So y’all bitch-ass rappers better chill and just guard your grill
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| Y’all grab a mic and always gettin' hype
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| Talkin' 'bout fuckin' niggas up when you can barely beat your dick right
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| So stop ridin' my dilznick
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| 'Cause I can still kick the ill shit on the motherfuckin' real tip
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| Hit like Foreman when I’m brawlin'
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| Those who think I’m fallin', I’ll play your monkey-ass like a organ
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| I got crazy niggas in the city 'noid
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| Got mad bitches, but it’s not 'cause I’m a motherfuckin' pretty-boy
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| I’m ruthless, I’m not on that goody-goody tip
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| That shit played out with that Beat Street/Electric Boogie shit
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| I’ll stomp any rapper that you have compete
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| If they ass is weak, they better chill and grab a seat
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| And go 'head with they master plan
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| Stevie Wonder probably see me before half you rappers can
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| You can’t hang and you’re fallin' fast
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| You rappers that’s trash better dash and start haulin' ass
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| 'Cause I’m out to wreck shit
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| Fuck up a show, collect my dough and step off with a bad bitch
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| Spectators always have the best time |
| When they come to a show and hear a funky Lord Finesse rhyme
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| I’m out to get bigger, lounge and make rich figures
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| You’ll never catch Finesse associating with bitch niggas
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| I work overtime when it’s time to go for mine
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| Crab-ass rappers, don’t even front 'cause y’all know the time
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| So it’s time for me to step
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| Peace to Showbiz & A.G., and I’m off to the left
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| («I'm the calm one, but my crew is sorta sick»)
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| When my crew gets sick, you know I gotta represent
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| («I'm the calm one, but my crew is sorta sick»)
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| When my crew gets sick, you know I gotta represent
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| Check-check-check it; |
| A to the G is gonna wreck it
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| On stage, on my record, so nigga don’t forget it
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| I’m the man — the One-Man-Band is on my right hand
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| («His name is Show nit-wit, so get with the program»)
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| I take a hit from the buddha blessed
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| Turn my hat to the back, now let’s see who’s the best
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| I like my pockets fat, never ever flat
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| Niggas wanna jack, my .45 ain’t havin' that
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| Hoes get no dough, so why try?
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| You think it’s gonna be a hit 'n' run? |
| Wrong, it’s a drive-by
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| Niggas catchin' tantrums
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| Because your girl’s never safe around the Midnight Phantom
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| They predicted I’mma fall?
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| They must be down with Michael Jackson 'cause that shit is «Off the Wall»
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| You don’t believe me, ask that brother Show
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| (Snatchin' hotties, grabbin' hotties, lettin' mothafuckers know)
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| You come wrong if you don’t come strong
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| «You better catch wreck!» |
| Motherfucker, I made the song
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| Styles will vary, they won’t carry over
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| Don’t fuck with no Devil, I’d rather marry Oprah
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| Yeah, you got it, I’m pro-black
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| And my skills are so phat, I pay my dues, I don’t owe jack
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| You bite my style, I can spot it
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| Tryin' real hard to get it, you can forget it, because you don’t got it
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| And my skills are excellent
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| Diggin' in the Crates and it’s time to represent
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| («I'm the calm one, but my crew is sorta sick»)
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| Big L and D’Shawn, yeah they had to represent
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| («I'm the calm one, but my crew is sorta sick»)
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| Lord Finesse and A.G., yeah we had to represent
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| («I'm the calm one, but my crew is sorta sick»)
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| («I'm the calm one, but my crew is sorta sick»)
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| («I'm the calm one, but my crew is sorta sick»)
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| («I'm the calm one, but my crew is sorta sick»)
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| («I'm the calm one, but my crew is sorta sick»)
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| («I'm the calm one, but my crew is sorta sick»)
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| («I'm the calm one, but my crew is sorta sick»)
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| («I'm the calm one, but my crew is sorta sick») |