| I run with Puerto Rocs, Morenos, Costa Ricans, and some Guidos
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| My bullets quick and fly around your head like they’re mosquitoes
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| The mark they leave inside your body smaller than a needle
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| The fiends here get their rock and roll like they’re the Beatles
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| I’m from Philly and the killers on the block is my people
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| And that’s regardless of the fact they’re moving rock and diesel
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| It ain’t nothing for me to bust a fucking shot at people
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| For me to run up on your spot and bust a Glock at people
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| And my fam, they’re waiting patiently to clap a round
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| My hands are strong enough to spin the earth and crack the ground
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| My crib like a gun store, Vinnie keep the heaters
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| And fucking with me only gets you close to meeting Jesus
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| The man that tried to battle Pazienza, he’s in pieces
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| That goes for anybody else that Vinnie P. competes with
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| I’ll die for any of my cousins that I run the streets with
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| And for the motherfuckers that I share the m-i-c with
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| It’s starting to pour, stepping out the crypt and the morgue
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| A hockey mask cover my face, a hunting knife in my palm
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| We murdering y’all, Randam Luck, Jedi Mind, gun to the jaw
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| We clap the metal till we finish you off
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| I’m just a ghost doing recon exposing the coast
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| With the skull in Toronto or I’m a man on at home
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| We the coming of the Messiah getting rid of the poor
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| Tapping the beef like a butcher in the kitchen of gore
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| I fucking batter you, shatter your clavicle
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| Tactical individual creating these lyrical fucking miracles
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| On the steps of the White House ramming the doors
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| Shaking the motherfucking pillars till the government falls
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| With that raw shit coming out the mouth of the beast
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| A mercenary upon the altar ready to feast
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| My piece is ?, pointed at you ready to blow
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| The saga begins, kiss the ring of Don Corleone
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| I’m the motherfucking Fourth Reich, black Nazi kraut with a knife
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| Party like dance, we bring a torch to the fight
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| We meet in dark streets, chicken shit I can hear your heart beat
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| Your whole steez constantly reminds me of gynecology
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| Pork your pussy, in this game there’s no room for rookies
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| My jock strap is ten inch so fuck your larynx
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| Our shoes big as us, you couldn’t fill it with a semi truck
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| I feel like that so protect ya necks and stuff
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| Extortion, plagiary, assassination, perjury
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| Erase history, pages missing from books remain a mystery
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| Is our conspiracy really? |
| reality?
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| Seriously if it’s evil then it falls into my category
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| Rape these cheques like a statuatory invite into Ron Jeremy’s orgy
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| That’s totally another story
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| We got fucking popular, night breed like Dracula
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| The way I flip shit you’d think I invented the spatula
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| Yo hold tight, let me recite my words sparking
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| This gold mic is like fighting Tyson in the dark
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| In the back alley I rally my people for the breakthrough
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| Cali to the fullest, Randam Luck always stay true
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| The real deal underground sound living prophesy
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| A new world democracy, apocalyptic odyssey
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| Gotta be the policy, constantly they follow me
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| Tapping my home phone so they can know who’s calling me
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| Cold blooded and rugged, they’re taking your rights back
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| Now’s the time to rise up, we ready to fight back
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| Armoured factions spitting true to the masses
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| Conspiracy theories surrounding government actions
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| Their tactics controlling your passion
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| They’re stashing classified documents so nobody knows what happened
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| Collapsing in buildings, you’re asking for loose change
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| We digging for answers, leave us hanging like Hussein |