| I can rock a beat, plus rock a rhyme
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| I feel it’s time to show my full versatility
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| Nothin is impossible, I have the ability
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| I see one, don’t you woke, you wake up
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| Take up your mic and take off your make-up
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| This style I made up just of dust
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| Because suckers like you I will burn to a crust
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| You might think you’re hard, but even iron got to rust
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| I bust rhymes like a cherry
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| You might think I’m nasty — yes, I’m very
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| Cause I do it right just for you
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| And I could rock it all night if you want me to
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| So just lay back and let your head float
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| Like a boat on the open sea
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| But leave your mind open to me
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| So I can put into it
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| The sound, as it goes around and through it
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| Just like a merry-go
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| Though where we go
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| You wish you could
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| There’s no particular style, I only say as I feel
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| And if I say it, you obey it and kneel
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| And if you’re still standin, I’ma put my hand in a fist
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| Then apply the force to my wrist
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| That’ll surely floor ya, forget your lawyer
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| If you try to sue me, I’ma say I never saw ya
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| You’re just a stranger, boy, I will derange ya
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| Change ya, why put yourself in any danger?
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| So step out the way or get stomped
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| You’re soft and off, I’m on time with the rhyme, I’m prompt
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| For the simple fact that I got rhythm
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| So does DJ Akshun, of course the force is with him
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| So does Howie Tee, cause now we see what we have done
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| Look what we created, and we made it for fun
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| You try to make it better, cause it sounds so good
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| But you wish you could
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| Rest for a second and just reconcile
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| And play the record while
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| You listen to the style of a specialist
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| I’m a professional at this
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| I’m here to fix all the things you missed
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| I’m a perfectionist
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| I seek to be exact
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| All I need is just a mic and a track
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| I’m a vocalist, and I’m a soloist also
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| I sit back and watch too many fall, so
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| Straight from Flatbush, Brooklyn in the house
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| Diss the Bush and get mushed in the mouth
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| You might consider me a hood — good
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| But I got more money than you wish you could
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| In my socks, and no, I don’t sell no rocks
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| Though on the microphone I got this sewn
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| Hemmed, stemmed like a stone
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| And you don’t stop, because it feels so good
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| But you wish you could |