| MoF:
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| Yo Tropicana josh drop the razor, before you pull the trigger slime
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| No digital shape up, just tap nigga line
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| Swig of fine wine then he flew to Chi Town
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| He said if you’re going to pick it out, make sure you pat them sides down
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| Listen, niggas say they’re sickos, we’re nastier, real Gs hang low like
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| macromastia
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| Doppel Gang ghastlier than your average, wreaking havoc
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| Since the cloak was just a sheet of fabric
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| Reeked of haddock from all the floozies
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| Dancing erratically, sweating profusely
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| Loosey goosey, probably burn you like a Juicy Lucy
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| Getting in touch with inner hoochie
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| Beneath the table, flashing her coochi at Bertuccis
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| It’s all Gucci whether it’s MOF or cousin E
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| Let your hair down, you know we’re judgement free
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| Curmudgeons be like «nah, they can’t be trending»
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| Now they’re plotting, searching for that antivennin, Tarantism
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| EP:
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| Ayo who’s to say who produce the best Chartreuse or Cru Beaujolais
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| Yous in the loose zoot suits what can ya do for me?
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| Chicken out the packet little salt then call it a day
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| Hey, did a show at CMJ with TMJ
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| Rap lords, when you see them pray
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| Use per diem on the E and J
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| DNA, not of the gang to sell you the same
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| Rather, piss on your leg and tell you it’s rain
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| Shame, Shame, Shame, Shame
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| On the block where they Buda slang, Oi Tudo Bem!
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| No parents to implant the wisdom or vision
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| Transparent with the tarantism, listen
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| He’s jealous even if you just bit on a Pringle
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| For years in cellars eating some shit on a shingle
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| Now he’s got the bank tellers admitting their single
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| Overzealous off a jingle
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| Straight deaded by the eight legged
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| Venom spreaded by the dreaded
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| Dance like chicken beheaded
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| Once u get it don’t forget it
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| Its Prophetic, Tarantism |