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Ridenhour - shocklee - harvey |
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I see i'm peeking out ready to rumble |
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So now i'm speaking out |
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Against those |
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That flip the way the story goes |
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One never knows |
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Who be flippin the script |
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Whatever the traitors name |
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My aim is dunk em like |
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I'm chris webber |
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So many phony smilin faces |
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Traces of slander |
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Got em comin outta funny places |
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I had it an hear em |
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Talkin loud behind my back |
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What was good for the hood |
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Is what they say is wack |
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I take the stabbin & grin |
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When i'm hit |
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Cause i know the suckas smile |
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When i leave em |
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What i'm comin wit |
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I cant complain about the money |
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Although the suckas in the back |
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They talkin shit |
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An laughin like its somethin funny |
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I aim to make changes |
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An never change |
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Unless its for the better |
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Cause i always been a go better |
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Clean hustler |
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Rhyme instead of muscle ya |
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Born when ya thinkin i'm gone |
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The terror era is on... |
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I stand accused |
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To the crews |
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I paid my dues |
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I stand accused |
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I refuse |
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To stand and lose |
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I stand accused |
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To the news |
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I kick da blues |
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I stand accussed |
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I refuse |
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I hear em talkin & walkin |
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Behind my back i'm attacked |
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Fuck the knife in the back |
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Cause it feels like they got an axe |
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Yeah i can dig it wit a shovel |
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I never dig dirt wit the devil |
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Instead i'm on that other level |
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But i took time to reach down |
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To help the black & brown |
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I never stood around |
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I hear em talkin behind |
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My mind |
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In a ocean of sharks |
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And a back full a hackmarks |
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They say i'm fallin off |
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Yeah, they better call it off |
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& get muscle |
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& find another hustle quick |
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Sick n tired of critics |
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But i can take a hit |
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I'm all man |
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Alley oopin the vocal on jams |
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But they dont know it |
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They can blow it |
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& take a puff of dis joint |
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I see i'm kissin it off the cuff |
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Behind the back |
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I'm pullin axes and blades out the arms & the legs |
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Still my fellas get paid |
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The terror era is on |
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Fuck a critic/fuck fuck a critic |
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All the fuckin critics |
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Can get the did dit |
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All a fuckin critic does is |
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Draw a fuckin line |
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Cross a line and dis my rhyme |
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& then they ass is mine |
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If you find a critic dead |
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Remember what i said |
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Who killed a critic |
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Guess the crew did it |
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Say paybacks a crazy ass message |
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Sent to the writers who criticize |
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They're fuckin wit afreedom fighter |
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Who raises flags |
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& dragged the klan in bodybags |
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I hung em up in missisippi & bum fuck |
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This is chuck so what the hell |
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You think i did it for |
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To open doors from carolina to arkansas |
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And lemme let em i met em |
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I told my boys forget em |
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An what they did got rid of me |
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Negative |
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But 94 got stunts & blunts in da mix |
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I hear the crowd fallin vic |
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To old ghetto tricks |
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But if i wasn't your cousin |
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Wed leave em in the dozens |
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Of sellin out & bellin out |
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Half pint 40 ounce |
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Announce to the rest |
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We had a fall out |
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I never took a drink |
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Never took a hit or bribe |
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Or got spread by what a silly |
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Rumor said |
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Never sang or gang banged |
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Sold out or rented hip hop |
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Cause i know when to stop |