| I put my hand on my rhyme book and promise to say the truth
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| When I, enter the studio and blaze the booth
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| And make a joint to raise the roof
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| And leave the place roofless
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| Intoxicated Demons demonic like the group KISS
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| I gets wicked, we gon' make a bomb to wake up
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| The industry, so prepare for the three, like the musketeers
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| We paid dues, blood and tears
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| Waste the years, (blazin), and drinkin beers
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| Nah fuck that, better believe I’mma come back
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| And make my new shit heard, like a gun clap (BLOWW)
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| What I think you should do? |
| Is just run back
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| To the lab, flip your music, and your drum track
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| Beatnuts, off the hook, like a telephone
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| Competition, shook and soft, like it’s silicon
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| When we come through, hit y’all with the 1, 2…3, 4
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| Blow it up like it’s C-4
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| Buyin out the bar ain’t nothin
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| Got the VIP on lock we thuggin
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| Shorty bouncin in them things wearin nothin
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| Lookin like she wanna give into somethin
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| Eyes chinky man, lookin like Ho Chi Min
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| With a shorty tryin to get out, the clothes she in
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| The position I’m mostly in
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| Is ahead of the game, and they don’t even come close even
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| Yo, you do it with such pizzazz
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| We do it over real beats with lyrics that’ll bust ya ass
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| Ju always had a nose for cash
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| Always threw a punch like a maniac, I’m down to crash
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| Put the pressure, soundwave be on measure
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| Niggas don’t just flip beats, we flip treasures
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| Classical shit, gotta have it in the party
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| The battery pack to start movin everybody
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| When you hear it, you know who it be
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| Then you hear it in the cars, and everywhere you go in the street
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| Tryin to bless you with just the heat
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| That’s a word from the Beatnuts baby, that’s yours to keep
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| I just wanna get my freak in the club
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| Get my weed, get my drink, get my rug
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| I’ve been workin all week, what the fuck?
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| All the ladies in the house, show me love |