| God hates me, never keep my banger on safety
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| My mother raised me alone, you can’t break me My hearts pumpin’the blood of Hoyce Gracie
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| My thoughts dumpin the slug and point straightly
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| You rhyme fakely, you still scarred
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| I’m studying deep thoughts like Bill Maher
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| I’m real raw, we just dumbin’it out
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| And y’all ain’t sayin’nuthin’with a gun in yo mouth
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| That’s what I’m about, but Vinnie Paz go deeper
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| Y’all still under the spell of dose ether
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| The Grim Reaper, it’s all nature
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| And every word from Allah is on paper
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| We all hate ya, we can’t stand you
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| Chapter 8, verse 3, book of Thandrew
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| You like a candle, you just burn
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| You never worship Allah, you can’t learn
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| Chemical space ships, taste dust spliffs, hit from the Matrix
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| Pig Destroyer, Anakis kiss, splatter your patriots
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| Make coast stops, injectin’my pockets with Botox
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| Latex bitches be chokin’on cock like Blow-Pops
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| My flows hot, my glocks like a popular friend
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| Sniffin Oxy-Cottin, we rock till the popular says
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| Merciful fate, we at the gates, I hurt you for cake
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| Cause Red Planets like a Shit Magnet, it counters with Jake
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| Digital cuffs, runnin’from the D’s and the fuzz
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| Gut you out, rock Gas Mask, bleedin an stuff
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| Into the void like blue velvet, goons and clerics
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| New synthetic designer jewels for moods in deserts
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| In heaven and earth, barcodes to measure my girth
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| Thats like the J.D.L. |
| joinin’the Zulu Nation for turf
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| Birth of the solar, we did so, write for the cobra
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| Goretex readin we all stand with iced out cobra’s
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| Check it. |
| yo. |
| yo Now what it be’s like, niggaz wanna stay tight, I stay right
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| Face fight, get your weak, split, shit that I spit
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| Most Acurate, Flex writin back a bit
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| range on the side of it Yo I’m tryin to get a lot of it
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| I rock that exotic shit, spit the hottest shit
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| Yo trial, might get the same time giancanna get
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| Death before dishonor shit, gangster persona shit
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| Jedi Mind, 2−5 is who I’m polly with
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| When Im tryin to score the third, it’s who I holler with
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| Yo hood, its my project, exchange objects
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| Yo guns for my teks, yo range for my lex
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| From Q.B. |
| to Philly, we control sets
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| I stay splurgin, heads stay wrapped in Turbans
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| Tigher than a Virgin of Ford Excursion, nigga
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| So how you figure that we don’t be reppin'
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| Whole drugs and weapons in a dodge intrepid
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| Yo Stoupe, whattup baby, whats good
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| Jedi Mind, the gracious, 2−5 collabo |