| I’m Pavarotti with a shotty
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| Move the Charlie while I’m still part of the Little Rhody
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| The bricks is like Basmati we chop them like did karate
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| My shorty draped in a saree like Saraswati
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| To make a long story short I caught a body
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| This carajito couldn’t embody what I embody
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| He rubs shoulders with Stalin like Togliatti
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| yellow and it look like Vanaspati
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| The Black Hills ammunition hotter than wasabi
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| I call Black Banners and I fly to Abu Dhabi
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| Scoop me at the ADI in the Maserati
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| Staring at a lithograph of Raja Ravi
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| In a courtroom cocky like I’m Gotti
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| It’s over half a milion bodies in Makati
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| I puff on Afghan like Shah Durrani
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| The bullets in the armory look like a hot tamale
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| I’m ridin' in a bucket with the roman candles
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| Lookin' for your favorite rapper, rockin' open sandles
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| Roll the window down I’m throwing pólvora
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| Now your mami stressed, screamin' out «Ojalá»
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| Squeezing in your mouth no Orajel, send you all to hell
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| Shit still on a scale 'cause my mixtape doin' sorta well
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| I can still win a Cy Young the moment the pie come
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| Try some, you’ll be Harlem shakin' 'til your mind numb
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| Verses crack ounces of piff, I got all kind of dope
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| If I get low fiends lickin' the baggy like an envelope
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| Labels ain’t cutting a check, so I cop sarin gas
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| Garfield Thanksgiving Day Parade’s how I’m airin' cats
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| Wear a mask in October and every other holiday
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| Stock your face if I heard that he chopping base and got the papes
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| Run upon you, I already told you my blood is Goya
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| This spic take enough work to terrify a Trump supporter
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| Whoa
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| Part 2
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| I stack money hand over head
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| Ask about the god, I’m the man in the
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| I’m hotter then Louisiana Hot Sauce
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| Take you hostage, ain’t no bridges where you getting dropped off
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| Uh, I’m rockin' furs for the winter
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| Uh, as I emerge from this printer
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| I grab the mic and turn MCs to dinner
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| Walk up on you and shred you like Master Splinter
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| I’m buying guns like the military
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| Armor piercing rounds put you in the cemetery
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| I like the bread but I got more rolls
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| Reading books just to help me through this cold world
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| I walk around with the angel of death
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| Make you pay me with money and make you pay me respect
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| Ain’t no funny business, have you smiling by the neck
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| Never leave the fort without throwing on the TEC
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| Look, dry snitching is a lonely disease
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| This is shells of money homie, macaroni and cheese
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| This is luxury, we eating Avalonian peas
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| Dumb muhfucka, get some and read
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| Listen home is you ridin' or what?
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| He talking to ops, homie, he be trying his luck
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| Y’all ain’t getting' nothin' B, I’m not providing nathan'
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| I greet my brother peacefully it’s «As-salāmu ʿalaykum»
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| Turn this muhfucka to a horror scene
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| The periquito yellow B, it look like it’s a quarantine
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| I’m all about my motherfuckin' spinach, chicken florentine
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| Doctrine of divine illumination, Santo Augustine
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| The gravedigger gonna teach you how to move the dirt
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| And jefe gon' have to teach you how to move the work
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| This .40 praying homie and she dying to pop
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| Momma told me I should strike while the iron is hot
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| Battyman! |