| It’s ridiculous the shit I be sayn
|
| Call me the Legion, niggas ain’t playn
|
| Beatin' on my chest, but I keep calm
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| Word is bomb, pokes that make the ding dong
|
| Medicine in the music, the menace of a monster
|
| Once a couple stomp a gangsta from the Bronx
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| I feel no pain, I ruff rugged insane
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| I run the train express down the lane
|
| Get out my way, punk, niggas start the jet
|
| Bowl from the porch, four fingers of death
|
| No one can do me, pictures crazy, chew me
|
| You have my card (?) but you just can’t clue me
|
| I chomp tracks like Scooby snacks
|
| Pull my jinx out the hat, like Minnesota facts
|
| Eight ballin' the side, park it up the? |
| next to? |
| dice
|
| Man, ready to thumper
|
| (Verse: Molecules)
|
| Vicious, victorious, verbs are hard on my venom
|
| Heavenly valid as I’m rocking in my fucking dentals
|
| Hawged connection, too ill creation
|
| The mind — Jason, that’s deadly like Vacation
|
| I ain’t the one to pop the clock ova a son of a gun
|
| Corpe inside yo ass like a dum-dum
|
| Son, I hew with the verbal aggression
|
| Black is brown, with the king, like it’s? |
| in?
|
| A lunatic out being psychopath
|
| Victors get it on, cause that ass is gettin' kicked
|
| Gray cells pop while I shot and I take a puff
|
| The niggas doubt us, say damn, they can’t?
|
| So himble himble, have you heard?
|
| Chucky smashes up next to Fleck (that's me!)
|
| (Verse: Cee-Low)
|
| (Word) Double faced MC’s tryna step on me
|
| They must be crazy, B
|
| Get a token poll, I suggest they start talkin'
|
| When I get open, somebody’s shit gettin' open
|
| Don’t play me, play hop-scotch
|
| Nigga, I’m top notch, holdin' the mike in my crotch
|
| I got convertible rhymes comin' down
|
| Smother the ground, all around you they surround
|
| Forming that? |
| with pots and pans
|
| Me and my man, sayn things real niggas understand
|
| With no vessel, win, velitious get sent to a session
|
| Any pro’lems, surely I will let someone swing it
|
| Getting to a-flingin' it
|
| Whack MCs could get the fucking thing a little close to nose
|
| I ain’t fuckin' with no hoes
|
| Or should I say sluts? |
| Even the ones with big butts
|
| So nasty, naughty, never playn shawty
|
| Don’t make me mad, I might get sortie
|
| Upset cause punk niggas act rude
|
| I got a big attitude, dropping joint (?) eva
|
| Look for a terror
|
| I’m calling it stereo on the cross-america
|
| The many I rock the East Coast
|
| Before I boast, I make sure I pack a toast
|
| (Outro: Dres)
|
| Aw, hahahaha, yeah
|
| That’s the niggas
|
| Y’all 'em niggas |