| See, she got trapped from the rear, Tiger Chan and Takbir
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| Slap em down, make em drown, in the muddy water slaughter
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| You oughta be able to pick up your pen and defend
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| Cause if you can’t, me and my friend terrorizin' all
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| Revoke all my actions and still won’t fall
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| Stab you all like rag dolls — time for voodoo
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| See we can do what you do — change your smelly diapers filled with doo doo
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| Then toss them and?? |
| no scratch allowed ha?
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| You weak to Deac', your piece don’t ever ever try to compete
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| I’m fat in cellulite, keep it discrete and delete
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| No longer will you exist in the war of the wack minds
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| Takbir, rollin' on fools like Pathfinders
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| It’s the grandmaster, look like the Flash when I’m runnin'
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| Laps around those who can’t adapt to fat sounds
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| Backgrounds and pots on stage is what you need and, yo
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| Ryu, pass me the gauze to stop the bleedin'
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| Jaycee got sick with the tracks, so I flip with the rap
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| Enough dope, to make the world’s biggest triple beam collapse
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| Jump up and get jacked
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| Collide like an avalanche and a haystack
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| Stay back, the will of force is awesome
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| Tied 'em up to the pole with ropes and scorch 'em
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| Burnin' with the flame and the match I aim
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| Shoot splat, uh oh, uh oh, what, who’s that?
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| Yeah, Tak-Takbir, uh ah ah, yeah, yeah
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| Yeah, yeah, yeah.
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| «Hit 'em at point blank range and watch 'em radiate»
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| A wicked combination with my dangerous mindstate
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| «Hit 'em at point blank range and watch 'em radiate»
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| Suffocate the victim he’s trapped with no escape
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| Yo, it’s Tiger Chan from San Fernand'
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| Dolo trippin' fat vocal code bring katanas to your throat
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| My persona is that of a Don Dadda, so I gotta
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| Slay sixty-four suckers and bounce like an impala
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| From the junkyard, scientifically pullin' your trump card
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| Speak with respect when you speak of the God
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| But yo, bust it, I get up in asses like hand puppets
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| When Ryu bring the ruckus, rappers start kickin' the bucket
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| Tackle me, who’s the toughest, kid to get clowned
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| Rolled, smoked, and passed around Cuban imported Dutches
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| Lyrics servin' me justice, plus it’s payin' my bills
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| Step up and get swept up like kitchen spills
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| By the man who got more skills than 2Pac got mills
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| In a shoe box, bangin' S.O.B. |
| out your boombox
|
| Hah hah, so what happened?
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| Actin' like a G, but your name ain’t Julio
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| Messin' with my Dangerous Mind like you was Coolio
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| Michelle Pfeiffer, I keep it hyper like a sniper
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| Buckin' in plain view, my fangs bare like a viper
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| Step into my cypher, son, and get tagged
|
| Around the toe, MC Rah Rah, now you John Doe
|
| «I'm goin' out blastin', takin' my enemies with me»
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| Strictly with the rhymes, Dangerous Minds is risky
|
| «I'm goin' out blastin', takin' my enemies with me»
|
| Whiskey in the brain keep me from goin' insane
|
| «I'm goin' out blastin', takin' my enemies with me»
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| Tipsier than hippie hallucinogenic semantics
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| «I'm goin' out blastin', takin' my enemies with me»
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| It ain’t nuttin' but some ol' Tiger Tiger Tiger Chan |