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For underground metaphors |
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You can scrape an inch below the turf for what it's worth |
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My style's been developed in the core of the Earth |
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The exhale's volcanic the inhale is seismic |
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So brothers just panic when the Live one arrives with |
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The natural ability to run through your crew |
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From 2-1-4, 2-1-3, to 2-1-2 |
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In other words from Dallas to L.A., to the place where J stay |
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Everyday is mayday |
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So you can talk your shit on how you're wettin MC's |
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with mad blood stains but I'll bet you can't stand the rain |
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I'm lookin on your brain with disdain |
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Go back and reflect on my endeavors black I can't complain |
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It's like a raw deal, consistant with the way I make you feel |
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The ends stay revealed while the means I conceal |
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And those who try to steal get decapitated |
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You wanna snatch my H2O type flow, that shit evaporated |
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I displays my credentials over instrumentals |
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And my potential, increases at a rate that's exponential |
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It's detremental fuckin'wit my thesis |
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The penetration's exact, like amniocentesis |
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I rip your shit to pieces after drainin out your fluid |
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My vocab is fluent yours is evident of being truant |
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I know you wanna make moves but son you best to take a second look |
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Before my knight takes your rook |
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[hook] |
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Cause everybody's rappin, and only few can flow |
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So why the hell they tryin to deal with Live I don't know |
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I handle true MC's on their block or at their show |
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So if you come with bull, kid, keep it on the low |
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[Verse 2] |
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Cause yo, I got the hairsplittin, self-written unbitten style |
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that leaves the competition running scared and shittin' in their pants |
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You best to set it off cause black it aint no second chance |
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once I'm open, all you doin is hopin' that the Live one |
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will put the mic down, but son don't try to snatch it after |
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The laughter won't cease from the comparison, how dare you son |
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Step around the booth when I'm on |
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The microphone magician says poof, you're gone with the wind |
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There's no trace of your friends cause you don't know where the |
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beginning ends or where the end begins |
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But you see that's the difference, you get sold, I get paid |
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Black I told you, get paid |
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If you're broke I'll have to rain on your parade |
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You belong in |
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Special Ed. |
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if you think you |
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got it made |
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J-Live with the mic is like the chef with the blade |
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Cause suckers get sliced and sauteed |
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Yeah, you thought your joint was fly but the flight was delayed |
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[hook] |
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Because everybody's rappin, but only few can flow |
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So why the hell they tryin to deal with Live I don't know |
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I handle true MC's on their block or at their show |
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So if you come with bull, kid, keep it on the low |
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Yes everybody's rappin, but only few can flow |
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So why the hell they tryin to deal with Live I don't know |
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I handle true MC's on their block or at their show |
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So if you come with bull, kid, keep it on the low |
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[Verse 3] |
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Cause yo, I take the grey matter of pretenders |
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through my mental blender, and then return to sender |
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My pen don't pretend to offend |
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I intend to render MC's, hangin loose like a fender bender |
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I recommend regardless of your gender |
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That you strike fuckin' with J-Live from your agenda |
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And remember that whoever lends a helpin hand to defend ya |
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Will get burned to a cinder |
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As I end the, reign of wack MC's with their suicidal tendencies |
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Renderin me sick, with the thoughts of killin; enemies |
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But then I return to reality |
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Metaphorically murderin MC's when they battle me |
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You can't rattle me |
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I'm not your average snake slitherin through the grass |
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I surpass the serpeant as I head the class |
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You consider me crass as I wax that ass |
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Style's no joke, but you best believe I gets the last laugh |