| Come on guys, improvise man
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| What can we do for you?
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| Statik Selektah
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| I know he stab you in the air when he speak
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| So why you frontin' like your shit ain’t leak
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| When it sounded like I make cure-a-tea
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| The other side of the same one-way street
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| Said I’m the best what? |
| The fucking necks up
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| Like airplane sleep and I’m taking off
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| Like the national anthem and wearing hats
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| And to the hearts no mirror matching
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| To a pigeon a terror act
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| You fear the fact, a fan dressed in all black
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| Ms. Mary met bottle service
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| What I bring to the table got flavoured tag
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| Just aim to catch it, from here on stop it
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| See the fear on ya' shit
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| Face looking like a three-pronged socket, electro fire
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| My desert the whip stand
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| You holding the hourglass while sinking in quicksand
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| I did you dirty like old bad boots, scuffles and slack box
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| And clap topping with a foot in the door
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| Seen it sasquatching
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| I found myself in my reflection. |
| I’m back
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| Watching Billy faded off and looking in mirrors
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| I’m hat shopping
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| You can see the Alibaba shows
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| Surprising this Lady Gaga and some dyed out clothes
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| And ta da I revitalize they idolise my flow
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| And they shit be sounding like they reading wifi codes
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| And voila, every vocal is just important as there
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| Half and half is getting to listen, other’s hoping they care, yeah
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| My true colour and temperature vision thermal delivery making
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| The push less painful like epidural
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| Well what can we do for you?
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| Well, well, I’m just cut from a different cloth
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| Shitty snort made him look like Mickey Rourke in the face
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| We just want paper plates, meetings with paper planes
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| But I keep having nightmares word to Dana Dane
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| I heard the misericordia let me splash the water
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| Achieve the white salami, autograph your daughter
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| She just wanna make some IG videos
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| I just wanna be mentioned amongst the billy goats
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| Snoopy and Charlie Brown on me a silly coat
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| Hooter coming right back bitch no Arsenio
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| Drop a few papooses on Crestview, wet fumes
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| A bunch of graduates from out the wreck room
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| All say my shit the stupidest but ain’t no guarantees
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| With this music shit
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| My primo dope m. |
| o's the fifth along with Ludacris
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| Primo manteca mon amor frozen
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| Tis atrocious method I add that I’m like a swarm of locusts
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| Well what can we do for you?
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| Yo, This morning I woke up and scratched the numbers off
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| I need at least a mill by next year
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| I’m giving the plug a call
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| A lot of slow leaks in your circle, when I can plug 'em all
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| When ya’ll was getting rich off the purple shit
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| I was cutting hard
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| I ain’t never lied on a verse
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| I wound up being dead broke when
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| You’re alive to choose dying is worse
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| I made real niggas cry with my words
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| Shit I might hit styles for a verse
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| Reporting live from the curb
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| I reside where niggas run on the 1st and on the 15th
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| And if your name good then niggas slide you work
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| I got one goal and that is to bring it back to my era
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| The good karma’s, more commas like grammatical errors
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| I don’t get caught up in the chatter
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| I just laugh and do better
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| For Statik a potato on a barrel for whoever
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| Even in the summer my sterling is dragging the pavement
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| And I got hammers in the attic blowing weed in the basement
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| We ain’t dig in the safe for a while
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| Pop told me if I wanna make it work so we gon' take it to trial
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| I’ll be damned if I slip up now, no celebrating prematurely
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| Because I can’t afford no hiccups now
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| I’m off seasoning the cord that I cut through
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| And when them partners telling you they straight
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| Nigga guess who they come to
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| Started taking shit several years to look what we come to
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| There’s a lotta things that I can’t undo but we here now
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| Hey yo this Ap
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| La, la, la, la, la, la, la
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| What can we do for you?
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| Yeah, Statik Selektah
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| Young nigga living, jury had feds watching me
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| Trying to war with the king, niggas don’t think logically
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| At any moment God reward me for my modesty
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| Killers dump the body leave you stinking like rotting meat
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| Blasting, smoother than Billy Dee in Mahogany
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| Fashion, model figures disown a wannabe
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| Bragging about the days when you was a shooter
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| When you run into some real ones they want you to prove it |
| How could I trust you?
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| Don’t even trust the ones I grew with
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| Niggas stupid, catching bodies then youtube 'em
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| Just to hang boy you tie your own nooses
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| I can see the state in your eye while throwing deuces, yeah
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| No soul reflect on my best years
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| It’s the flow forever, gonna stress peers
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| Please, I’m the dopest you never heard
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| Like a crack fiend’s screams, falling on deaf ears
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| Yeah, so ferocious, flow is potent, yeah
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| Hit the pussy then I hocus pocus
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| Pray my karma don’t curve back like scoliosis
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| If niggas don’t know how to play it throw it to Kobe
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| I gotta let you know though
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| Feel like James Evans in the hood with the flow though
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| Started with a band, made my money solo
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| You could be standing by your killer in these photos, damn nigga
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| What can I do for y’all?
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| My kind of music is embalming fluid
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| I’m prime influencing
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| It ain’t that hard to tell that I been through it
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| Crazy back then even my momma knew
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| Kinda foolish, quick to crash out like Osama fluid
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| I repeated the Taoist and wear a life I really feel
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| I really feel like I’m tommy empowered
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| Not to mention that I’m co-signed by Tommy on Power
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| So when my stars align I’mma shine on you cowards, look
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| Like really, how i’m 'posed to relate?
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| To these artificial artists I been knowing their fate
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| Monkeying round you could get a hold of your date
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| Mr flow-to-drown-rappers, stat, show them the lake, splash
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| Air bubbles from the gasp
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| Air bubbles in my sneakers, writing Brody in the max
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| Biggie in the speakers when I’m opening the pack
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| Mike sold him my apartment because we both was in the trap
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| Hmmm, i’m headed down to Lollapalooza the car with
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| The shooter will probably make you swallow a Ruger
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| How 'bout a Uber and bust you for an awkward manouver
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| I stomp on the tune then dip into the jar with the budha
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| It’s smelly
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| Well what can we do for you?
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| Nothing but I’m gifted like stork visits
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| Flip birds like caught pigeons
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| I’m couped and it’s off limits
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| My material can buy these Timbs in New York fitted
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| It’s my pedigree raised by the pounds that I brought with me
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| Hoid up, got the polar, damn flow no one colder
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| Heir to the throne or colder
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| Bad to the bone like arthi-ritis and
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| Auto-write it on auto-pilot
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| And caught pics where your daughter ride it
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| I’m so excited
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| No x’s in site just o’s and commas
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| So know the drama
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| Deep like penmanships and ocean’s harbour
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| Ain’t Will Smith then hold the llama
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| For all who brought the drama
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| This ain’t Broadway mama
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| Me I been m.i.a to the bullshit
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| My demons straight, I could demonstrate what the truth is
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| Been roofless since I was ruthless we been on property’s roof
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| It’s just dogs barking up trees with the nooses
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| And new since the new kids, I’m the back of the movment
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| And proof that a root gives fingertips on the groove this
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| So who-dissed-that-nigga-that-you-been-sleeping-on
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| My temper peak, you never see I’m like a see-saw
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| We the law if you can follow the words
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| Just keep your ears to the streets
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| Or you might swallow the curb, the concrete though
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| Can’t steal and my my arms swing low
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| Sweeping bitches off of they feet
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| The Bronx hero is ready
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| What can we do for you?
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| There’s nothing like sitting at home, let me tell you that
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| Well what can we do for you? |