| What up ya’ll?
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| Aight, gotta little something to say
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| You know I been chillin, chillin in the underground
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| And we see all of all ya’ll
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| Yea we see ya’ll
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| You know what I’m saying?
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| Everybody in the game trying to do their thing
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| You in the industry
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| We in the streets
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| You know what I’m saying?
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| The label that runs beneath the streets
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| Psychopatchic
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| ABK, Esham, Blaze Ya Dead Homie, Zug Izland, ICP, and
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| TWIZTID!
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| Hey you bitch boy guess what?
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| Me and my brother made of rubber
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| So when Twiztid’s in the house
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| We bounce the mothafucker
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| Save your pen ink and your paper
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| Player hater
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| We bring the dark side
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| Everywhere like the temper
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| Ain’t you heard
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| Ain’t nobody jocking your shit
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| Use an open toed sandle
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| Just flip-flopping it
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| Here’s one for your play list
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| Suck my mothafucking dick
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| First single
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| You can wait on the remix
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| Get your candle blew out
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| I feel the love homie
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| Even if it’s hating your mouth
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| I’m still the same sick and Twiztid individual
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| Looking to go ballistic
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| So reminiscent to make your
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| I keep it covered and smothered
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| Like hash browns
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| And my war songs ready
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| Keeping them vultures from swooping down
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| I’m as classic as a throwback version
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| Of Michael Myers
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| Where the hatred that’ll spread
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| Like a forest fire
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| Why yuwannahoe?
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| (So don’t worry)
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| Don’t hate on me
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| (Get the fuck outta here)
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| I trying to shake them off my colar
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| With a pop and a twist
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| But these haters hang on
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| Like some velcro shits
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| I can’t escape it
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| I try scraping them off
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| But they holding on so tight
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| It’s like rapping a moth
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| I leave you mothafuckers shaking
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| In the frost of my cold heart
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| And burry you alive
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| In a hole in my backyard
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| Don’t act hard
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| You don’t want to chance it sonny
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| Monoxide, you know how we do this, money
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| So now I hear that you’re attacking my crew
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| For the shit that we do
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| And you’se a bitch
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| Thinking ain’t nobody sweeter then you
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| We spitting sugar shock
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| For you dum-dum lollypops
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| Give you 20 whole seconds to reload your glock
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| Better bust right
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| If you’re looking for the lime light
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| Better sit down
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| Get your rhyme right
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| Get your shit tight
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| Round here we stay tight
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| Like fly anus
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| When no video
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| Don’t no radio rotate us
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| And no play list
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| Just young, dumb, and faceless
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| While big cats copping these dumb hoes
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| And nice bracelet
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| (You hear that, all you stars go wait on your publishing checks so you can pay
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| your baby momma rent, what?)
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| Why yuwannahoe?
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| (So don’t worry)
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| Don’t hate on me
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| (Get the fuck outta here)
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| I don’t know why
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| They hate me so much
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| Dedicating more then half of their life
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| To doing such bitch ass shit
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| It’s making me wanna retaliate
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| You’d probably press charges
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| Hoping that they’d lock me away
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| I’m not a bad boy
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| I’m a fat boy, bitch boy
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| My whole team spits raps
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| While your team is unemployed
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| Riding a pie
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| I’m a give them a piece of my mind
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| You’se a back burner project
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| Getting done up from behind
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| My whole squad drops LPs to CDs
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| And making way more chow
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| Then you’ll hoes will ever see
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| That’s right mothafuckers
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| Quit selling that shrink rap
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| Boo-boo bitch
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| Why yuwannahoe?
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| (So don’t worry)
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| Don’t hate on me
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| (Get the fuck outta here) |