| We are the VA players
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| Love to the Neptunes and the Clipse
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| To ya bootleggers we breaking off both of ya legs
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| The underrated Maganoo, comin’with the unexpected
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| The run away slave I, Mistameanor
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| Escaping from all ya fraudulent players
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| Last but not least, the heavyweight champion, Mr. Mosley
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| It’s been a long time, I shouldn’t have left you
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| Without some little nieces and nephews
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| To cover all the beats, and the rhymes I been through
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| Time’s up, sorry I left you
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| Thinking of this, I keep repeating them hits
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| Like that Aaliyah, Timberlake, or Missy Elliott shit (Shit)
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| As you sit by the radio, hands on the dial tone
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| As you hear it, pump up the volume
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| Jump when you hear them speakers left it off (Off)
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| Mr. VA 'bout to set it off
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| Well I don’t know what you heard, and I don’t know what ya know
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| Well my folks don’told me, (YOU GOT IT! Oh)
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| So, «Up Jumps the Boogie», let the record work (Uh huh)
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| And put me on like you red alert
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| 'Cause it’s the big bad Timmy, Maganoo, and Missy
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| Like THREE THE HARD WAY!, comin’straight out of Virginia
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| DJ’s in the mix shows you better go to the record store and
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| COP THAT SHIT! |
| (Oh Lord)
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| And to the bootleggers giving em bootlegs
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| We breaking off both of ya legs, COP THAT SHIT! |
| (Oh Lord)
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| Stop burnin’CD’s for ya friend and I’ma say it again, nucca
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| COP THAT SHIT! |
| (Oh Lord)
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| 'Cause this the hot shit, out on the streets
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| So when you hear this CD go and COP THAT SHIT! |
| (Oh Lord)
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| When you say you love me, it doesn’t matter
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| It goes into my head as just chit-chatter
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| You may think I’m egotistical or just very free
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| Won’tcha say I go tell it to, TIMOTHY!
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| People say I’m whack, but they don’t tell me so Let them pretend to be me, then they know
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| I hate when one, pretend to fantasize
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| Fact I despise, those who even try
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| Sweat between my thighs never stinking
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| Yo dream is over, career sinking
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| I told all of you, like I told all of them
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| Whatcha say to me be, DICK TO YA CHIN!
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| In one ear and right out the other
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| «Ayyio Missy you ugly!"yeah ya mother
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| I don’t pay attention, I don’t concentrate
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| You ain’t got the bait, that it takes to hook this, huh
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| I’m your idol, the highest title, numero uno
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| I’m not a Puerto Rican but I do look up to Vagil
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| And understand I got the gift of speech
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| And it’s a blessing, being from them VA streets
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| I talk sense condensed in the form of a poem
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| If I wasn’t writing rhymes I’d be breaking in homes
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| I’m kinda young, so my gun’s my security
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| I’m not afraid nucca do what you gon do to me
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| I get paid when your record is played
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| To put it short, heh I got it made
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| I’m talented, yes I’m gifted
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| My uppercut boy that’ll get ya lifted
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| You got cash? |
| man stop frontin
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| Living off damn every record that you cutting
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| My name Magoo and I roll wit two stars
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| Every CD we split 48 bars
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| My name Magoo and I’m a supadupa star
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| Every other month I get a brand new car! |