| You got to get up If you wanna get
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| I hate people that ain’t movin’their shoes
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| and I hate everybody that I see not feelin’my groove
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| I like rhymes that be quick as we be takin’the bar
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| but I hate everybody that don’t like electric guitars and I hate people who think they can dose up their medicine fuckin’with venom… and I twista… show them the force I’d like to see somebody talkin shit get turned
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| up a corpse
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| only model with the ones that got the wickedest drawers… kick it with ya’ll
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| but I hate phony ass people
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| and I hate having no dro
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| and I hate bitchy-ass clubs that don’t be havin no bitches that break it down
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| to the floor
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| and I hate when I can’t help somebody
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| and I hate when I ain’t got dough
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| and I hate everyone feelin twista and prodigy rockin’music party music control
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| You’ve got to get up If you wanna get off
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| Keep your eyes open… so I can stop you from blinkin
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| Make you feel… try to see what you’re thinkin
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| Through the hole in your dome while I’m holding my own
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| Get so cold in the zone I’m destroying my clone
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| I can fill the fuckin’room up with torture and pain.
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| lyrical… is coursing my veins
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| It’s the trilogy of terror… from my era
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| … agility that I scare ya because I hate ya’ll |