| Blow trees on spots with no d’s
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| Know these cops are so hungry to let the government
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| Gross g’s off us in penitentiaries
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| Frustrated the only way to bust is mentally
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| From ghettos and meddle
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| Stay bopping the instrumental
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| The cops is cock blockin in front of spots
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| We off top switching the pedals
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| Aliens get sick in the middle
|
| Got caught in it
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| With a little bit of the 'ism
|
| In the city of villains
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| Spastic crouching tigers and hidden dragons
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| Niggas’ll go spitamatic we flow spitamatic
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| For the head piece to get attracted
|
| Burning red leaves to the cabbage
|
| Learning dead? |
| niggas acting
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| We gonna get rapping
|
| Till the streets cease the madness
|
| Listening to the beat clapping and be happy stay so nappy
|
| Poems that have to hold the gat piece
|
| Just to get through
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| Feel like we gotta spit missiles
|
| Just to get you to feel it in the physical
|
| Reciprocate lyrical in fashions
|
| Just to bash in your cranial cabinet
|
| Metaphors
|
| When words become hands to open doors
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| Open doors
|
| Street journal
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| Put heat to your kernal and pop it
|
| Everybody looking for profit
|
| Im looking like a prophet
|
| When the beats is pulsating
|
| Most gracious
|
| Niggas I roll with so satan
|
| No playstation and no game
|
| Thats the cereal? |
| scratched off no name
|
| Plain killers stand by the freezer
|
| With crews and dudes who scrooge like ebenezer
|
| Pop bruise make you a believer
|
| In vice we speed life hold dice roll with sativa
|
| Wild style killer with dirt in the caesar
|
| ? |
| face with metallica to roll the fever
|
| We make you a believer
|
| Where we from fights for ice by the freezer
|
| Spitamatics
|
| Mic addicts
|
| With drug habits
|
| Life tragic
|
| They mind find you in a casket
|
| You trying to grind
|
| They trying to lock you like a savage
|
| Haze with the hashes
|
| Its all mathmatic
|
| Spitamatics from the high lands of manhatten
|
| Get it pappen
|
| Ninjas in the mix
|
| Leave faces like «what happened?»
|
| The night creatures
|
| Either so streets clappin'
|
| Noblemen on beats watching and just laughing
|
| Gotta eat
|
| The monsters reaction to the heat
|
| To much on my girl crib hard to breathe
|
| And can’t sleep feeling addicted to cold streets
|
| But must stay away
|
| Harassed everyday by the fucking police
|
| So we move disorderly with pants hanging off our asses
|
| Spitting acid
|
| Ever since we was young matches
|
| Never listening to what moms asked us
|
| We rather be on the street
|
| Quest for skunk sessions
|
| That cave pump niggas chest in
|
| So how you restin'
|
| Ring around the rosy be deciever
|
| Gotta get your rolly face holding open for holy chiba
|
| Pop shots pop locks scream heater cry wolf
|
| Whisper phoenix
|
| Digest readers
|
| Death in the rear view I hear few
|
| True thoughts closer
|
| In any hood
|
| Like a newport poster
|
| If I tell you again I told you once
|
| And thats word to the chinamen who sold? |
| front
|
| Without you and ari latifa?
|
| Bout to set it off
|
| On the reaper to buy sneakers
|
| Sit by the speakers and write this
|
| Make the? |
| deeper
|
| Roll it up start again
|
| Check my beeper
|
| 'matic spitting the verbs
|
| Showing the culture
|
| Im done flipping the bird Im throwing the vulture
|
| Random thoughts
|
| Find their home in dome
|
| Stoned is the way of the poem
|
| Spitamatic |