| I knew this nigga by the name of Captain Hook
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| Who had a record deal but no lyrics in his book
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| But everywhere you looked he had a poster for his single
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| The one he bit the oldie track and stole the oldie jingle
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| jangle, but I be comin from a different angle
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| Cause I want that pot of gold below the hardcore rainbow
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| But name your price and you’d be down to sell your moms
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| I’m on a different level while the Devil grease your palms
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| Sign your life away in ink, cause you think you got the talents
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| But look at Hook’s bank account and zero is the balance
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| I repeat, ze-ro, peo-ple
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| Cause he be worried bout his hook so he could get a spin from
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| but Rico, blow them type niggaz through the rooftop
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| Cause only plays you if you R&B or Tupac
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| So one single later, he fallin out the game
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| But before that nigga left, he left us his name
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| Chorus: Tash
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| Captain Hook, Captain, Captain, Captain Hook
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| spend a little time witcha rhymes
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| Drink drink, we drunk, we drunk, drunk
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| Drink drink we drunk, we drunk drunk
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| Verse Two: Tash
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| And for your info, I can set it off to any tempo
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| And have you niggaz puzzled while I make it look so simple
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| Cause deep inside my mental I got stacks of lyrics hidden
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| That’s why I get the props that Captain Hooks don’t be gettin
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| Plus they be counterfeitin, styles straight scandals
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| Spendin too much time tryin to party off the handle
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| I bust to Orlando, tryin to better what I got (why)
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| Cause I’m Tash the likwifyer here to take somebody’s spot
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| But not that nigga named Captain Hooks
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| Cause he’s the type of rapper, that’s always worried bout his looks
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| But overnight success don’t impress the West that’s freshest
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| He need to take his cheese and invest in rappin lessons
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| Or catch one for free right here on me Or catch me late Friday night on 92.3
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| And after lesson three, if his style still stank
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| I’ma tie his ass up and make him walk the plank
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| Verse Three: J-Ro
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| I was in my Likwid cruise ship, just sailin the seas
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| When Captain Hook came and stole my steez
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| Oh Hook, caught a left hook, for stealin my hook
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| In no time he stole a rhyme out my notebook
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| I’m the the Pacific Ocean, floatin
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| Chasin his broken ass out to Oakland
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| But WhoRidas said he came and stole they name
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| And he got E-40's briefcase full of game
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| So I, set myself back on the Ro’s quest
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| With the Farrahey brew up in the crow’s nest
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| He could see L.A., there was trouble you see
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| Oh shit, he just stole a flow from WC
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| Now he’s throwin up the dub I gotta catch the fuckin scrub
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| He’ll go down like a sub cause I’ma cut him like a shrub
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| He wants pub, yeah, he’s all on Blass
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| He moved real fast on Snoop and Ras Kass
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| Chorus (J-Ro instead of Tash in the first half)
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| Verse Four: J-Ro
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| Now I’m in Atlanta, and his trail is hotter than a sausage
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| I’m took late, he took Outkast out as a hostage
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| I wonder could he squab with the Goodie MoB
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| I think he got the best of me, just how many would he rob
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| I floated out to Queens but it seems I just missed him
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| They said he robbed Cool J for his boomin system
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| He went to Shaolin and stole Method Man’s bio
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| and he buried everything somewhere in Ohio
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| Bone Thugs saw him, at the Crossroad
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| with a empty treasure chest that he was tryin to load
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| He was last seen sailin, into the distance
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| We gotta catch this crook and we need your assistance
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| Yeah, if you happen to see this punk scallywag out there
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| Don’t try to aprehend him, just call Tha Liks
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| And if you suddenly got some rhymes missin, you know who did it Captain Hook, yeah we gon catch his ass
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| Baten down the motherfuckin hatches
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| We gonna feed his ass to the gators
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| But first we gonna
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| Chorus: second half |