| Took spanish one for four years, just so you know
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| Spit my shit right here
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| Puedame, malo muchacho
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| Mos Def con Tony Flaco, el idioma que yo hablo
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| Pretty young champ like Camacho, spittin the hot flow
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| B-Boy shout, Zulo could stop O, bro
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| You know my stilo, cigarrillo con tamarindo
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| Papi chulo negro, saros amarillo
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| Yo soy suave hito campion nacional como Tito
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| Bringin the heat bro, unique when I speak yo Doin my Way like Carlito, beats by M-A-S-E-O
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| From Panama to Puerto Rico, play my jam on caliente noventisiete
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| On the expressway, and press play, see what ya neck say
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| Duro siempre, parami hente, garamos
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| Se acabo de ganamos, corrio, alze la mano
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| Blowin ya spot like I got toast
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| A lotta MC’s is Def, but they ain’t Mos, and not close
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| Understand it when I shine, all your light is through
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| Ya niggas wack in one language, I’m nice in two, fuck is you
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| Que eso? |
| Tu no sabe mi sonido
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| Siempre, ganamos nunca perdimos
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| Para che? |
| Bianco, Negro, Latino
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| Del mundo, quando unto, che profundo
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| I got chips, to ziplock, rips to burst
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| Nine conventional, original B-Boy, my peeps call me Merc'
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| I’m from N.Y.C., so see Y in me
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| There’s a lot of hustlin, found around my cheek
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| Sippin strawberry daq, that ain’t never been fucked
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| Try to catch me off balance, man, you shit outta luck
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| Cuz we got more rams, and I drivin y’all
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| Got the people like the jams, more live than y’all
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| I’m wit Tone Touch, while ya all touched in the head
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| Such a lethal combination, got you facin the red
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| And um, yo, you don’t want no parts in that
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| You style so pussy, last name should be Cat
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| We takin it back, like flea stacks and pile longs
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| Wit the ladies in a frenzy, runnin they nylon
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| Reveal flesh to test, cuz I love bruisin 'em
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| Treat my battles like my children nigga, I’m never losin 'em
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| Aiyo, what’s that? |
| You don’t know, that’s my sound yo No one can rock like this, we put it down y’all
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| For who? |
| Black, white, purple or brown yo It’s Mos, De La, and Touch, we hold the crown yo Pardon me son, but the only Spanish I knew, was dame un beso
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| Cut bitches wit niggas, who nettin the peso
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| Ya breathin on beats like this, if you say so I stay sippin on God theories, so where the case yo?
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| Wait flow on four floors like film edits
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| Fuck sayin the name, you read it in the credits
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| Sit that ass down on my lyrics
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| We servin niggas up some beans and rice, everything is everything
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| Heavy metal thing, rock, wit most and pot stiners
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| Written flows get broke down by the comas
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| From L.I. |
| lawn, I green shit up in my wallets
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| To fly the wrong places, and get red like scarlet
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| How I dollar it, I just earn the say
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| So when the itchy itchy come, I satisfy the crave
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| And let it fall a little too much
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| I let Tone touch my ears to let the bullshit disappear
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| Pafuera, tu non sabe, mi manera
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| Native tongue, puttin it down, done qiera
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| De La, Mos Def wit a candela
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| Boriquen, que bonita bandera
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| Respect the unprotected be necks to catch a pela
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| I send ya all runnin home to ya buela
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| Cash rap over a beat or acapella
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| Kick a wicked rhyme like a fortune teller
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| This fella, se pone feo quando llego
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| I still be shoutin cats in San Diego
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| I’m still in effect, and I’m still doin the wevo
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| I still be puttin it down, til I’m a pieho
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| Man, you can’t tell me nuthin about the huego
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| I told ya suckas before, leggo my eggo
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| Yet you insist upon playin wit fuego
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| But I catch you on the rebound, hasta luego, pendejo |