| Fuck waiting for the beat ima crack these streets open like jailbreaks
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| Sweet, the only flavor we can repeat
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| With no stable mates breathing my savory breeze
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| Fatally sneeze on the track, label it the greatest cd
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| Dining table with the diamond needle squeaking on my vinyl plate
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| Please, im trying to eat mc’s in peace
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| Fry em em grease, you cook em live, ima repeat the hook and
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| Jive to the illness think twice conceived
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| Call it vibes, goodness, some kind of fuckin fly pudding
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| If rap was tonic i put the cap on and shook it
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| And douse dips, the house party kids i shout scripts
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| The child golden chickens down loads with no mouse clicks
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| If you choose to party like no tomorrow is due
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| Get live with gold body
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| Look alive
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| And move your sorry ass
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| Im hooked on your kind
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| The glorious
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| I floss raps, paper scraps, jaws and traps
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| Stiletto metal cross etched in my neck bone
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| Inverted words sketched on walls ghetto the kid
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| Holding melon is gold, several karats, we’re old fellows
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| My flow is the medicine
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| Kept us in good health, whenever albums on the shelves are
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| Embarrassing or they’re sedatives, i flex my mouth
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| Every syllable a black dot spilling my ink
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| On heavy chemical tablets i scratch thoughts
|
| You villains should think fast
|
| Shotgun miller genuine draft, drop your mic, dash
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| Im nice like broads drunk
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| God’s sons false like bronze fronts and ice rhinestones
|
| Yall just run around in circles like time zones
|
| Laid back and chillin
|
| Talk about the treats on the tv screen with my fellow james bond
|
| Villains swillin
|
| Everything short of a pigsty by picked eyelashes, thin
|
| We mixed dry gin and sip tastefully
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| Dips with grace, bullies and high school scarfaces get laced
|
| Boogie and break
|
| I make sounds like wookie, get down with fly bookies
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| Trying to pay me back with cookie baggies
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| On the dance floor ducking like daney sippin was lucky
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| Shuffle kicks, lazy gimps, fuckin crazy pimps
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| With handstand punches, that stun bystanders
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| And drunk chicks chewing up banana bunches
|
| We slide bannisters the camera shy amateurs night
|
| Shadowy crime fighter slash rhyme analyast
|
| We step syncopated, get a drink so fast my tip will hit the table
|
| After kids have drained it
|
| We pose half toasted
|
| Pull my half bow back and blow kiss prey frozen in the focus
|
| Like ice cubes, busy meltin in they fizzy melon mixes yo
|
| My flow is dizzy, seldom spoken with shitty fellows and punks trying
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| To crowed me
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| Only write rhymes when im drunk or when im drowsy the crown
|
| You only sound phony trying to pronounce your ownership of this
|
| In hip hop, or your town, city, and block
|
| Im like the fist knocking down boxers, claiming the shit they rub on
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| My glove
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| Is to fog their vision of being the top kid rocking a mic
|
| Like you was actually holdin a dick, not even beating off right
|
| What the fuck |