| Yeah
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| Yo, Les, what up papa?
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| Juju Gigante, y’kna mean?
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| Goblin Queens New York
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| Philly out here
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| We shining
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| Yeah, the four-fifth symphony lift him
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| It’ll spin your head around like a rotisserie chicken
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| I was born on the Red Sea, Abyssinian vision
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| We ain’t A-Alikes, God, we completely different
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| How much more proof you need that the boy crazy?
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| I carry four pounds like a premature baby
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| Pussy boy, coming out his mouth, all shady
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| I will punch him in his fucking teeth, all gravy
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| I’m liable to take a young boy lunch box
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| And if it’s any resistance, then you gon' get punched ahk
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| I catch homis, Lord, harder than punk rock
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| I remember 'xactly where I was when they slumped Pac
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| Quintetto had everything, but got cocky
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| Philly wop with nice hands, but not Rocky
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| Mommy making manicotti, but it got sloppy
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| Yous a bitch, Benny Blanco when he shot Papi
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| Yeah, the left hook startle 'em, the end is a mean right
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| Sublime nature, I am from the sons of the Green Light
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| I could tell from your eyes, something don’t seem right
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| Hands shake, brittle, so I know you the queen type
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| This 550 Sonoran, force is absurd
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| And God told me the pen is the source of the word
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| How he call himself a rapper, but he awkward with words?
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| In a city I diddy bop, walk with a bird
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| Let’s be honest, money, you just mediocre at best
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| And these cop killers going to put a hole in your chest
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| I’m Vido Loncar throwing blows at the ref
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| You like Luke on Hoth, almost frozen to death
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| The straight right’ll lift his fucking pussy out of shoes
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| With no counters coming back and that’s the point I’m trying to prove
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| You ain’t get the fucking point?
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| That’s the point that I don’t lose
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| You can see me muhfucker, I’ll anoint you on the news
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| Yeah |