| I am, too hot to cool off
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| Blew Atlanta up like Eric Rudolph, and starving in pursuit of moolah
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| Floss and get your crew robbed, my crew’ll shoot at you like «hoorah»
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| I be on tour and shit, you get on stage and you get boo’d off
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| You throwing jabs at me but we ain’t in no boxing gym
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| I’ll stab you and have you inside of a hospital hooked up to oxygen
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| So who the hottest? |
| Conversation my name get brought up in
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| I’m Woody Harrelson, this industry is Zombieland
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| You wanna fuck with us, you must’ve had no common sense
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| I’ll kill you then your guts get eaten up by Brotha Lynch
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| It’s Strange Music so the competition nonexistent
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| All them other record labels fallin' off like rotten limbs
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| I’m making some money, it’s making their stomach cringe
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| I’ll never forget it, a couple of summers ago, I was cooking and scrubbing pans
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| Drink 'till I get drunk and spin
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| Puffing something with a lovely scent behind the Cutlass tint
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| Floating in the Strange stream, who jumpin' in?
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| My brain is full of thoughts that are darker than Samhain
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| That span across the Great Lakes and vast Midwest Plains
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| Spreading coast to coast like a virus you can’t contain
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| Now a global pandemic, panic courtesy of (STRANGE!)
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| The biggest independent label, pop the champagne
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| We don’t need no head now, homie you can keep the change
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| Coming through your speakers, receive us into your blood vein
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| We the truth like Nostradamus' prophecy quatrains
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| Snake Bat, Praise that, part of rap since way back
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| Since the days of 8 tracks and 808's and adaps
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| Analog cassette decks, steady grinding, what’s next?
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| Starving artist 'til Trav and Tech cut me that advanced check
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| Strange outcast step child, call me Damien
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| Five Finger Death Punch straight to the cranium
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| Flow so sick, could be enriched with uranium
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| Extraterrestrial, lyrics labeled alien
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| Appetite destruction, never been no punk shit
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| My voices give me choices, just to spite me I choose dumb shit
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| Choppers all around me, I mean lyrical and literal
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| Spit it through this microphone and pull up at ya mami’s home
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| Jump out on the dumb shit, speaking through this drum clip
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| Tearin' flesh, rippin' hips, watch me kill shit
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| Cypher without the villain, that’s appealin' but it’s silly though
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| An army without it’s general, an octopi no tentacles
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| Not trying to be subliminal, nothing I do is minimal
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| Heavy hitter, heavy words, push a nigga, pushin' verbs
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| Squish my button, you push my nerves, ten toes in the turf
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| Not the last or the first, gutta nigga, stomp the Earth
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| Grippin' metal, I ain’t special, on the level
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| Smack your temple with the barrel, not complying, I’m a rebel
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| And I’m fresh up out the ghetto, puppet master, I’m Geppetto
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| Take a minute, you’ll get it, nigga, Scoob did it
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| Kali Baby! |
| 'Ight man, I’mma do this! |
| I’m kinda nervous
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| The purpose of having a cypher is so you can sit here
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| Wide-eyed, listen, look at me in this position
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| Now, I coulda just left you sitting there
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| But Nina told me to pick 'em apart, you’re a victim of art
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| K-R-I to the double crooked, look at him
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| He pudgy like they took a ugly stick and frickin' shook at him
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| And I don’t stay Gucci down to the linens
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| I’ll let you trick off, she jerking my dick off and grinnin'
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| You can see him, but he just a figment
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| You wanna be him, better get your pigment gone
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| Try to beat him with deliverin'
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| I get belligerent and that’s the end of the song
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| And I get a little bit ahead of myself, feel like I’mma melt
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| And I feel like I’m better than everyone else
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| I guess I be rappin' ahead of my wealth
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| I’m the coldest thing since the ice cube
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| Only thing missing from this beat back in the day was Ice Cube
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| Yeah, I said I’m the best in a minute, nigga what?!
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| Only niggas that could contest it is rested, dig em up!
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| Okay! |
| Hahahaha! |
| Whatever, nigga… |