| Industry does not, feel you
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| I’m sick of this shit
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| Blind bitches wish
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| N9ne's wickedness away
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| Motherfuckin' killer B
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| There’s about to become a distillery
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| The majority don’t really feel a G
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| With the paint and a dark soliloquy
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| Music, they said killed the fee
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| Me, Krizz, and Makzilla free
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| So I’m gonna have to keep it real with me
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| Fuck them straight with agility
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| They callin' me crazy
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| Don’t wanna play me
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| So I make the music that will target their babies
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| And open 'em up to wicked shit
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| They wanna know how hip is this
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| This never been no hipster shit
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| So the fakers see me and dis the 'fit
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| I ain’t cool like the late great Biggie Smalls, the illest
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| So I went the route of a killer clown comin' to pillage a village
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| Steady tryin' to get 'em all to feel it
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| But I learned you can’t please everybody
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| When my mother was livin' they used to say «your son is scary Maudie»
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| I don’t give a flyin', dyin'
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| Spy inside of al-Qaeda, they lyin'
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| When tryin' to diss Tech N9ne
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| And when they all shall buy us
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| I don’t fit the part for main stream cause I’m rougher
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| Only time they wanna look like me is Halloween motherfucker
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| I realize I’m not inviting
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| You ain’t with it
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| Sit it down
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| I’m a vicious
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| Wicked clown
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| And I’m livid when the critics give us frowns
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| Trippin' with this nigga’s sound
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| Yup, I get it now
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| Get it, me and you, we are not the same
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| We unequal and the people is to blame, get it?
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| I get it now
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| I guess I got the wrong pants on
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| And I don’t really make no dance songs, get it?
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| I get it now
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| Y’all can’t tell I’m fuckin' myself up more and more on purpose?
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| I love scarin' the hell out of y’all, haha
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| Stick the masses, racket off in the casket
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| Sound like they wrist broken like put the fuckin' lotion in the basket
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| How is he livin' lavish when he rap really fast and he mask it?
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| They don’t get it when I gas it
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| They laugh at it, mad it ain’t ratchet
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| They wanna wear clothes just like A$AP Rocky, like Yeezy and Drake
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| That’s what they identify with, not with a nigga with the clown paint on his
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| face
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| I get it that I’m wicked
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| When I spit it they be comin' to get 'em a ticket
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| Talk a lot of shit at the gate and they got to zip it
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| When I’m bustin', they open up to somethin' different and dig it
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| I get it, I never looked like the average black dude
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| Track shoes, gold teeth, and covered in tattoos
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| Yak, booze, reeking and chiefing the sack through
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| Speakin' about reaching them hardened hat screws
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| Jack move
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| Yes, I’ve become a big boss
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| But I’ll never be cool as Rick Ross
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| That’s okay, N9ne's been rhyming
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| And now he’s shining
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| Perfect timing
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| You ain’t with it
|
| Sit it down
|
| I’m a vicious
|
| Wicked clown
|
| And I’m livid when the critics give us frowns
|
| Trippin' with this nigga’s sound
|
| Yup, I get it now
|
| Get it, me and you, we are not the same
|
| We unequal and the people is to blame, get it?
|
| I get it now
|
| I guess I got the wrong pants on
|
| And I don’t really make no dance songs, get it?
|
| I get it now
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| So what I’ve come to realize is I will never fit in
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| So it’s my duty to make sure that I stand the fuck out
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| Meht etinu lliw eh esuac', meht sthgif reven eh yhw s’taht, meht ekil gnihton
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| s’eH
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| If this thing does not kill you
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| Grind back to back tracks
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| Find racks on racks
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| N9ne's stacking that all day |