| Introducing, Gene Poole, Sept Seven, Pat Juba, & General Woundwart
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| Here on stage tonight, in the spotlight
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| For your fuckin' crew and your bitch too
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| So rock this shit
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| Just cause you put weed on a stick does that mean it’s tight
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| When you stand on the edge of the stage does that make you fly?
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| Stars in the sky are only reflection’s awesome source
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| And I am an MC from the Hip Hop protection force
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| Independently endorsed the cause
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| When I’m through busting these verses your hole will be my personal hostess
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| First and foremost, I could give a fuck where your coast is
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| I’m different than niggas in my district under hypnosis
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| What my crew composes is not made for poseurs
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| It’s too dangerous for those who’s cornier than they toes is
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| I rub noses in styles that get nastier
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| Than four piles of shit on your bathroom floor with blood on the door
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| I got more than fat tunes I read plots for the afternoon
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| Which lasts through the evening or until your ass is leavin'
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| Gosh believe eyes they don’t deceive you
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| When you see me on stage MC’in' you in the moshpit bleedin'
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| I spend half o' my time readin' rhymes feedin' my mind
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| The other half is spent writin' so I’m constantly recitin'
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| Like blind twisted and sprite, I fix your lemon of a melon
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| Be cool, I don’t want to become a three times seven
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| Appearing live on the set, right in front of you
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| Secure your mind, Dynospec, that’s how we come to you
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| Effects box tweaks when it hits the tones get next
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| Physical matter of speak, officially known as Sept
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| Stomp through the land of the bleak where my opponents rest
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| All seven days they come weak kickin' that bogus text
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| No longer content, we’re just be headin' to monsters
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| Now I’m intent on lettin' 'em see where their flaws are
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| Acknowledge the scent, taste what fate has to offer
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| Make 'em repent, and then damage their posture
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| Policin' ain’t easy, but it needs to be done
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| The policy is simply to submit or be shunned
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| Follow me to the surface, the Spec fills the lungs
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| Colony is established, your descent has begun
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| Now piece this together and label this the error
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| Sep Sev Seven Two, that’s MC code for terror
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| Mariniatin' never celebratin' the weather
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| Breakin' measures as they come cause the drums in my head thump forever
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| The fraudulent fall to dismemberment in September
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| Clever sentiments, camoflauge, hidden agenda
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| Uncloud the vision and unclog the hearing
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| The poster says it perfect, Dynospectrum now appearing
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| I take focus on the energy and the action of your soul
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| Danger zone, far beyond control, polar cap, cold solar facts fall
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| Deep into my zone for soul savior, knowledge is flavor
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| The ex-slave reach a delivery, infinite memory
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| Released styles I possess fresh from birth beyond puberty, forced liberty
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| Got me in the center thinkin' raw flamboyant
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| Extravagant bombs be detonatin' while destroyin'
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| Hit you in the side of your mind, sight for blind
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| Thinkin' in my mind 'till it’s time to get mine
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| Generatin' loot, damagin' bank with street flank
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| Conquerin' Europe like cannibal elephant tanks I think
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| I think, like Tutankhamen, well I’ll be sunnin'
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| At pitch black dark, my queen’s asleep, I’ll still be rhyming
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| Radical atoms is what I split, it do because I’m equipped
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| Beyond the state of rip your gullet’s split
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| Direct impact, like pedestrian collision literal
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| Rugged like ACG, not immaterial, in the stereo
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| West coast with west imperial, check yourself
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| You don’t hear me though, niggas fear me though
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| If you wanna save your life hit the emergency exits
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| Cause the General’s got the front doors covered and intercepted
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| Windows are blocked off, the cock’s off, suck 'em suckas
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| You can mind to do under, but can never be the instructor
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| Control musical motion like Beethoven
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| I leave your whole metropolitan in the need for remodelin'
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| I’m sly like a moccasin, abolishin' any MC
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| Japanese to Somalian if you rivalin'
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| The land where my cottages and villages can be seen
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| The sun beams off my rim de-clench me
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| You try your hardest to convince me that you’re worthy of an MC
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| But all you seem to do when you rhyme is just offend me
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| The flimsy spines, let them be held in confinement
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| Them sucks couldn’t bust if they stuck a needle to hymen
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| They rhymin' calculator, ready to fell fakers
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| And the respiratory system, his shit’s a story, don’t listen
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| Just an organ with skins, twenty men with dividends
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| The only difference that it is, that he does it with synonyms
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| It’s just the livin' in this world that we gotta do our time on
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| So you can get your crime on, but I’m gon' keep the mind strong
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| Thank you thank you thank you, get the fuck out! |
| get the fuck out!
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| That’s right, niggas is tight, I should’ve known, that’s exactly it |