| Yo it’s the rap Scott Disick
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| Come through the fuckin' block with some hot lizards
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| Blowin' loud in the blizzard
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| Put 6 digits on the Wizards, shit, just don’t tell my misses
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| Damn, she throw the dice with a red glove
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| Spread love, spread legs from the bed to the tub
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| Floor to the closet
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| Real sex on the Panasonic
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| I’m gettin' head in the pool, bitch
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| Bitch, I’m just better than you
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| Yeah, around the world like 4 times
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| All because a mothafucka spit raw rhymes
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| Yeah, more lines, more lines
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| Shit, feed 'em more lines and more lines
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| I won’t dumb it down for morons
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| It’s like shootin' big game with a small 9
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| Bottom line of sellin' these pebbles
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| Get away with your life earnin’s while I’m tryna dodge these devils
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| The whole squad Gucci, Jordans, but chances are
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| You in LV if you runnin' with these rebels
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| I’m sellin' wrapped up, capped up vials of crack
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| Every syllable and vowel is a fact, I throw stacks
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| The chick ridin' with me, she polished, she a dime
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| She stylish, check her HOEFAX, her mileage is back, she solid
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| The Desert Eagle here to better the people
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| Sellin' perico like there is no I or L in illegal
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| I hire felons, to sew up the streets, while I let you believe
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| That it’s better to be you, baby, I call that threadin' the needle
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| You know me, it ain’t nothin' corny in the wardrobe
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| I’m low key, even more so than Thor’s bro
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| Impeccable ear, I take Braille, make it Morse Code
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| Then peddle it like I’m tryna make the Porsche go
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| And you say New York City
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| My cheapest t-shirts cost me $ 450
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| Listen for me, the call of the wild is «Go Philly!»
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| It’s shorties in the front row flashin' both titties
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| The texture of my voice is coarse, it’s so gritty
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| That I could make the people revolt with no Diddy
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| I used to kick it with Hex Murda, Frank Nitty
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| In the D where he would bring J. Dilla and Dank with him
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| Riq Geez for mayor, a franchise player
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| Yeah, you might say I’m in the book of Isaiah
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| The highway is when it’s my way
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| Yeah I’ma put a polka dot on your dome, and Kwamé yah
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| This is the big payoff, soliloquy of Chaos
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| Another rapper gon' get rocked like Amadeus
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| Defeat’ll make a nigga get ghost like a seance
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| It’s triple entendre, three stacks of, hey ya
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| I plan to keep a band like Fela
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| Until when my career’s over like A. I
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| It’s me and the Muhammads, Ali’s, bay’ah
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| That never played the porch or asked for mother, may I
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| Listen, my callin' card ball hard like armadillos
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| Rappers too thin to win, like cigarillos
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| Shakin' their hair back and forth like Willow
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| But need to save the soft ass talkin' for the pillows
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| I had a issue with a hater, now it’s kinda squashed
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| Like a slug below the soles of the St. Laurents
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| My response, a steppin' razor like I’m Father Tosh
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| Exotic fabrics on my blazer like the Maharaja
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| Sick whips in my garage, roll with no entourage
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| But I roll with heat like I’m Dwayne Wade, Lebron and Bosh
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| I keep the paper stacked in layers like baklavas
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| Even though they give us ours free, like the Amistad
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| I know I’m sort of pompous, no type of moral compass
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| Go right the fuck up in your mouth like I’m the orthodontist
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| Some rappers just startin' out, but me, I’m more accomplished
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| The imperial Black Thought from The Foreign Objects
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| I created a movement not just related to music
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| They keep askin' me what’s my take on the state of the union
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| All these haters is human, but I’m a different breed
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| They be crazy cartoonish, but I’m in a different league
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| Killer colloquium, kush rolled with opium
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| Makin' my associates act so inappropriate
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| I got weapons manufactured in the Soviet
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| Now I’m like Future on that «I just won a trophy» shit
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| Ayo the, the, the boss is back
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| Take that, and while you’re at it, make my coffee black
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| I tried to tell you mothafuckas on Respond/React
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| I’m the nastiest to do it, as a matter of fact
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| Yo who your top 5? |
| Jay, Biggie, Pac, Nas
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| I ain’t tryna hear another name if it’s not mine
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| Any side talkin', I’ma consider it shots fired
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| At the outlier, and start it up like a hotwire, nigga |