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(feat. Slug) |
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Get yourself together now because it's hit time |
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Your known as the hit makers |
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Breaker breakers, party makers |
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They'll make your back crack, your liver quiver |
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For all you cats, who never put more dips in your hips |
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More cut in your strut, more glide in your stride |
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If you don't dig that you gotta hold your soul |
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If you don't dig this mess, you came to the wrong address |
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Because singing might be loud and clear |
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(Brother Ali) |
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Ayo, the music made ‘em jump back |
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**** that, how y'all gonna contrast somethin fat, without lettin Ali touch that |
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Gun whack, read his lips |
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You're not serious, I got few equals and no superiors (so here he is) |
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A seasoned veteran, an ego reckon |
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I turn it up another notch to keep the people guessin |
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Y'all ain't ****in with the ahk so quit your feeble session |
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Double teamin for the evening, so you heed the lessons |
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So no |
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(Slug) |
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Here we go |
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Lookin at me like they know me |
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Only bout as far as they drunk ass can throw me |
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Do it, somebody's bound to catch it, no breakage |
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Never that, we keep it basic like breakfast |
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So taste it, the vitamins are subtle |
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So tighten up or Slug'll, even try to decipher the puzzle |
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But shut up though |
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(**** that, sucka jump back) |
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I hold the game like Notre Dame, I know your dame |
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(We call her hunch back), Ali run that |
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(Brother Ali) |
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From cats lips to gods ears |
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We align yall punk bastards and cross hairs |
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Applying our thug tactics till y'all scared |
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Don't stop till your punk ass hits the back stairs (ohh yeah) |
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(Slug) |
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**** that, jump back, yo, what's that |
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Drippin off her nuts, wait, why she got a nut sack? |
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You ****in rappers are she-males |
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From the retail to the e-mail, defeat felt cause you need help |
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Chorus (2x) |
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Y'all need to watch and observe and then follow |
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If we open for y'all it's still our show |
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I hear the same ol' shit wherever I go |
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Like Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah |
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(Brother Ali) (Slug) |
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(Rappers steppin to) |
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ah yeah they get their shits burned |
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I throw a roll of quarters and cyphers and then I get learned |
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(Yo I don't care were you represent son, where's your chicks?) |
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We'll take her out for breakfast if you want to let your lips run |
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(Slug) |
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Listen, I know your mission, some type of magician that likes to go fishin |
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On the mic with air tight precision, the leaders keeping tradition |
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when you ain't even keeping the rhythm that the DJ is spinnin |
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Calm down little camper, I've got the answers |
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You should **** exotic dancers |
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You should grow a pair of tits and some antlers |
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It doesn't matter turn it up, what the **** you think that amp's for? |
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(Brother Ali) |
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I write poems, write rhymes, write my name in the snow |
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And I could use all of that to bend the frame of your hoe |
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And I should but instead I'll just pay the waiter and go |
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But if I didn't have a wife, yo your kids'll be albinos |
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Your respect is like a stick in the grass |
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Mean mugs and tree hugs, I'll go on about it |
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I wear my toilet paper so that y'all can kiss my ass |
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with your tongue out and write a love song about it |
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(Slug) |
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Write that shit inside of your book full of funny little scribbles |
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The love comes in vomit, the money comes in dribbles |
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The Minnesota missiles, self taught |
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communication, mutilation, holding pictures of your sister naked |
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(Brother Ali) |
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Ha ha, You to drunk to walk down the stairs |
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And now you standing here choking on my pubic hairs |
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Telling me your name is if you think the brother cares |
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If you keep bumping your gums, yo we can ****ing take it there |
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(Slug) (Brother Ali) |
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Yo Make a room full of bump rocks stop and do twats |
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(Rest those shots from a cop, and ask him who's your pops) |
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Who's you daddy, **** that, Jump back and act happy |
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(Sing my ****ing chorus before I punch you in the face) |
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(Chorus) - 2X |