| Ohh mad one
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| We see your trap
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| You can never escape, your fate
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| Submit with honor to a duel, with my son
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| I agree
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| I see you using an old style, I wondered where you had learned it from
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| You know very well, it’s yours too
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| (yo god, it’s a duel, it’s a duel) heh, by the gods, will you show me?
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| (buck buck buck buck buck buck) and where do you come for?
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| (duel of the iron mic) you come here, since you’re so interested
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| (duel of the iron mic) fight me
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| (in the moonlight niggaz I will strike)
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| (what, what? bring it!)
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| Yo
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| Picture bloodbaths and elevator shafts
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| Like these murderous rhymes tight from genuine craft
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| Check the print, it’s where veterans spark the letterings
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| Slow moving mc’s is waitin for the editin
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| The liquid soluble that made up the chemistry
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| A gaseous element, that burned down your ministry
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| Herbal vapors, and biblical papers
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| Smokin exodus, every square yard is plush
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| Fuck the screw-faced photo sessions facial expression
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| Leaves impressions, try to keep a shark nigga guessin
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| Give crazy shouts son here’s the outcome
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| Cut across the semi-gloss rhymes you floss
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| Shit is outdated, just like neckloads of sterlings
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| Suede-fronts, bell-bottoms, and tri-colored shearlings
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| I ain’t particular, I bang like vehicular homicides
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| On july 4th in bed-stuy
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| Where money don’t grown on trees and there’s thievin mc’s
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| Who cut-throat to rake leaves
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| They can’t breathe, blood splash, rushin fast
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| Like runnin rivers, I be that whiskey in your liver
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| Duel of the iron mic!
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| It’s the fifty-two fatal strikes!
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| This is not a eighty-five affair, made clear
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| When the gods get on to perform storms blew up
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| Wu’s up, causin the crowd to self-destruct
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| Killer bees are stingin somethin while I reveal
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| Science, that’s heavily guarded by the culprit
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| Bombin your barracks, with aerodynamic
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| Swordplay, poison darts by the doorway
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| Minds that’s laced with explosive doses
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| Damagin lyrical launcher
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| Lunge at the youthful offender then injure
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| Any contender, testin the murderous master
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| Could lead to disaster, dynamite thoughts
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| Explode through your barrier, rips the retina
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| Who can withstand the astonishing punishing
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| Stings to the sternum, shocked in the hip-hop livestock
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| Seekin for a serum, to cure em
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| Adults kill for drugs plus the young bucks bust
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| Duckin handcuffs, throats get cut when dough rush
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| Out of town foes look shook but still pose
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| We move lioke real pros through the streets we stroll
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| Bullet holes lace the windows in one-six oh
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| So control the avenues that’s the dream that’s sold
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| Bulding lobbies are graveyards for small-timers
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| Bitches caught in airports, keys in they vaginas
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| No peace, yo the police mad corrupt
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| You get bagged up, dependin if you’re passin the cut
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| Plus shorty’s not a shorty no more, he’s livin heartless
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| Regardless of the charges, claims to be the hardest
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| Individual, critical thoughts, criminal minded
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| Blinded by illusion, findin it confusin
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| Duel of the iron mics (the master, he must be dreaming, heh)
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| It’s that fifty-two fatal strikes (well, if he is dreaming…)
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| Duel of the iron mics (…then he must be asleep)
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| It’s that fifty-two fatal strikes, nuh (and if he is asleep)
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| (then I will wake him up!)
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| (weahhhhaah-hah-hah!)
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| At the height of their fame and glory, they turned on one another
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| Each struggling in vain for ultimate supremacy
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| In the passion and depth of their struggle
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| They very art, that had raised them through such rapiant heights was lost
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| Their techniques, vanished |