| Yo yo yo
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| If you was blind to the fact, then soon you’ll see
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| Half of these rappers couldn’t run through me
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| I’m from a place where outta state niggas hide they rough
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| You believe in spirits, I’ll put you inside ya’self
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| Ya hatin, I’m changin up the course again
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| Now ya like, «Damn, how he get up in The Source again?»
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| Man these so-called rappers is gettin real sloppy
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| Labels callin me, just wishin they could stop me
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| Meanwhile I’m spittin at a chick in the lobby
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| Two-tone Timbs, lookin like chicken and broccoli
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| Rap cats don’t got what they need to stop me
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| Kick yo' ass and then we cool like Apollo and Rocky
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| My vacancy figures, hold my ground
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| Whole state-a niggas, love the way I hold 'em down
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| Over your track, I’ll floor ya
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| Have ya producer callin you like, «I got another one for ya»
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| So what’s this? |
| — The reason you ain’t seein me
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| Now who are you? |
| — Come on now, ya favorite emcee
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| Relax ya’self and let ya conscious be free
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| And get down to the sounds of the D.I.C
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| Yo my name, a name all crews’ll know
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| Everytime I spit, your label lose some dough
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| So if y’all move three, we movin fo'
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| Fuck rap, I bruise mics and that’s right from the do'
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| See it’s like, I’m bout these hits strictly (Say what?)
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| These haters out here don’t hit me, they gon' get wit me
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| You don’t know a nigga breathin that’s gonna out spit me
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| I got news for these lil' crews out to get me
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| I’m like easy pass before I drop
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| I might slow down, but I don’t have to stop
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| You wanna see somethin hot, well pass the rock
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| You don’t have to be turbo for yo' ass to get popped
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| Keep the stash in the spot while you hittin the leaf
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| Fuck makin it hot, I make it like fish grease
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| Timbs slick with the crease, get around that
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| And once I bounce on the beat, it ain’t bouncin back
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| Aiyyo I’m Skillz dawg, the steel I be breakin
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| I don’t give a fuck about the shit y’all makin
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| My crew spit nice and still get mean
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| Pop the clip out the mic and spit sixteen
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| Cats talk their head off for like an hour and shit
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| Niggas be ridin ya sack and wanna borrow ya dick
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| Whoever y’all think nice, I heard of 'em all
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| Name ya top three rappers, I’ll murder 'em all
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| Probably caught me at a light sittin low to the ground
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| Told ya girl, «Aww he act like he don’t know me now»
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| Any city you can visit, I tore that down
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| Way above yours, that’s where my flow at now
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| If I ever need loot, I long for figures
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| I’m in the parkin booth, ghostwritin songs for niggas
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| Chicks call me a pigeon, but they ain’t wrong
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| Cuz at any given time, they could get shitted on
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| Beats get spitted on, courtesy of Shaquan
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| I’ma keep talkin shit till y’all prove me wrong
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| Oh you still doin songs? |
| It’s all for nothin
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| All you gon' ever get from me is the fast-forward button
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| «Here's what it is.»
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| «.Iz is the real»
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| «Here's what it is.»
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| «.Iz is the real» |