| Yo she smelling like a bucket of piss, yo how attractive
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| Haven’t even started the beat, im already getting active
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| Yes im original straight from the crowd
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| How you expect me not to listen and refrain getting loud?
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| Yo i keep it representative of my culture, eat em like a vulture
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| I ain’t picky, ill slaughter em before they even line they notes up
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| Rap nerds and they evenly line they nose up
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| Rack em up coke, im only fuckin' with the doja
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| And ill still leave they face numb
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| Leave em with some bad brains, brain damage
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| The same savage in the fast lane
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| And i gain stamina every round im rappin' em
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| Battlin', top of the dome status
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| Forget your lines like frontal lobe damage
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| Now you crying in spanish to vela
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| Watching your favorite telenovela
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| Cus ill die being a Xochitl over a Discua Paz
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| Homie im feminine as fuck and ill beat that ass
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| Believe me, i mean these things dont last
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| Catch me busting a benefit soon, I’m off of the map
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| Just a disembodied voice in the barn
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| Form of communication is when your webbing with your yarn
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| And you stay laced in Pearls-
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| Will her skin continue to look great curves?
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| Her hair placed in curls? |
| brain great with words?
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| But still she ain’t a worth if she breaks from her nerve
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| Nonbelievers are fearful and they ain’t even heard of her
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| Servin' these weak emcees yo is what i do best
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| Like taking from they bank account before they even deposited check
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| Im the positive check, injecting ya neck with the potency
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| Coming at me with them roses and poetry
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| Is known to get ya neck broke with nobody noticing
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| Im rolling solo dolo and i know where my homies be
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| See whats the difference between me and you?
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| About 8 mixtapes, 12 videos and the term celebrity
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| Zombie attack, carnivore stat cus these emcees looking dead to me
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| Im radiating beasting on ya nerves, first ill eat right at ya spinal chord
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| Im feeding on ya worth, homie see that im the first to get you straight shook
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| And i ain’t even on ya fuckin' turf bitch, this ain’t a service
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| This is my first shit to ever drop the surface
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| Untainted like im about to pop a virgin in my pops suburban
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| Or more like mama smurf fukin' with these
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| Hatin' ass lost suburb kids who lost on purpose
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| Can’t handle without getting a grip
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| So we squabbin' fists until we settle this shit
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| Then own ya death to clit
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| Im moving urban core
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| Pit stops in the pit lops getting they shit knocked
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| Missing about forty dollars from they wallet and they wrist watch
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| And a weak ass dime sack off his homie who had just slipped up
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| Producing head of my state, call me chris rock
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| It ain’t hard to remember who i be homie, pick pocket pearl. |