| Born, born, born, born, born, born, born killer
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| I’m that mothafucking god damn nigga
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| The brother that’s tougher than any other you cover
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| The one you don’t wanna take home to your mother
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| Fuck a loose screw, let me enlighten
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| I got a whole mothafucking toolbox need tighten
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| Fast like lighting, punch like Tyson
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| It’s a clash of titans when I start fighting
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| So what’s a god damn reporter?
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| A nigga with a foot in his ass and a tape recorder
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| Dissing W-I double L-I-E-D
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| And don’t know shit about me
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| But you don’t see me running
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| I’m from the ghetto, ho, so I keep coming…
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| With more nerves, more verbs, more cuss words
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| To fuck with the suburds
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| You can’t stand me or can me
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| Bullets gonna go thru people if you ban me
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| Cause you fucking with my livelihood
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| For your health that ain’t no good
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| Like Breed I’m 20 below and getting colder
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| Going out lika soldier…
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| Crisp and clean I’m leaving the scene
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| Blowing mothafuckas to smithereens
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| And if I fall you know they didn’t pimp me
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| Cause the banana clip will be empty
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| You say: Willie, clean up your act
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| And maybe you can sell more records than that
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| Survival comes before principles and morals
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| So to the man on the street I’ma stay loyal
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| And fuck up those who oppose
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| Outta there smelling like a rose
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| You ain’t never seen a mothafucka kill a mothafucka
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| Lika mothafucka named Willie D mothafucka
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| Rambo can’t go
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| And Robocop get dropped like a ho
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| By something that they never saw
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| An M-72A2 mothafucking law
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| We can rumble in the jungle
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| Or have a World War 3 right here on the concrete
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| God damn, I done told ya
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| (Willie D) goin' out lika soldier…
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| Fuck this, fuck that is my motto
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| Willie D is fucking everybody like a hot ho
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| So you better put a condom on your ear
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| Cause I’m burning up the normal shit you hear
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| Smoking, smoking
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| Y’all mothafuckas know I ain’t joking
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| I’ve been paying my dues for a decade
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| (What time it is?) It’s time to get paid
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| Yeah, fuck the bullshit
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| And that nigga standing at the damn pulpit
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| I left Charlie Brown on the cut
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| Cause I felt like Snoopy working for peanuts
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| Now my ass is soe
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| And I can’t be fucked no mo'
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| So if you wanna test me, that’ll hold ya
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| I’m goin' out lika soldier…
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| I’m goin' out lika S-O-L-D-I-E-R
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| Pumped up for an all out war
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| Searching like a predator
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| With an M-16 looking for a magazine editor
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| I know they don’t write the columns
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| But they co-sign every volume
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| So I’m cutting off the head of state
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| So the rest of the body can’t operate
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| And while I’m into the slaughter
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| I may as well bust a cap on a TV reporter
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| And a DJ by the way
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| For giving that wicky wack shit radio play
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| If that’s your preference so be it
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| But I’ma call it like I mothafucking see it
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| And never be a pop chart trick
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| Y’all talk loud but you don’t say shit
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| I’d rather boycott that picture
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| And rap about that which affects ya
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| You wonder why the cussing won’t disappear
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| God damn, we ain’t happy down here
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| Willie D got problems
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| So when mom walk in, turn down the volume
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| And act like you’re doing your homework
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| Or get your pussy or your dick knocked in the dirt
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| There’s a vet in your vicinity
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| So pump up Ice Cube and jam Public Enemy
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| And let the O.G. |
| Ice-T kick a rhyme that’ll mold ya
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| And go out like a soldier… |