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Party people know the name, Vik with a "k" |
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if its all the same, if it ain't dont bother |
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told the little monster, "No I ain't yo' father |
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it's Uncle Viktor, shut the lights I'm gettin' dizzy |
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and close the door, can you see ya momma busy?" |
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What a scoundrel! |
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gassed up the town fool to go rob the crown jewel |
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he's like a lego megalomaniac |
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who's into electronic and techno, a real brainiac |
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smack-dab in the hip hop gold rush |
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V, rather the old stuff |
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preferably the Cold Crush |
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it gets deeper than Deepak Chopra |
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except he keep a stack and some cheap ass vodka |
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knee-cap poppa, only when he miss the chewy center |
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at least he always hits who he meant ta |
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remember he got a short fuse and bad temper |
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and a plan to claim emperor by December |
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member of the most player-hated race |
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who made this invaded place and stated with a straight face |
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if I cut her off I might miss her |
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and one of these days, right in the kisser |
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she probably get mad at me, I bet ya |
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it gets her nowhere like flattery |
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she said, "Where were you last Saturday? |
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and don't lie, we got your fingerprints off the battery" |
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don't make me have to bling you |
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or see you in the street and doubleteam you with the emu |
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he told her, "When the ?gem paper tear off? |
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it'll probably tear her ear off before y'all even square off" |
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no good good-for-nothin |
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kill her high for no frill like 'Good Will Huntin' |
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he feels out a place like bizarro |
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fiesty chick, comes all out her face like Charro |
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it's Vaughn, he's back on |
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and you know he don't care like Jimmy Crackcorn |
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wax off, wax on |
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tried to raise taxes on cracks and black porn |
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another year passes |
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gone are the days when he used to wear glasses |
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now he wear contacts, unfrozen caveman look over the contracts |
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these crews is too soft |
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he came to tear the roof off to get paid to goof off |
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they don't really wanna battle |
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all they gon' do is get mad and go tattle |
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tell 'em a retard said it |
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he ripped up the "We Card" sign and jetted |
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you gotta give us three card credit |
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even though at times he can be hard-headed |
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yeah, the main thing, creams by all means and harebrained schemes |
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the lord's performance was flawless |
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he rocked with a crown and a Bobby Brown cordless |
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the broad he was with was gorgeous |
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the only flaw he saw was she cause a nigga more stress |
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not trying to diss her |
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but I used to know this sister that could put a whole fist in her |
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Hell, I made it momma |
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grammy for the world's most celebrated rhymer |
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dead the drama, ?scama?, 4 G's of pizzy from Bahama |
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V, the lead brown man |
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and never count your chickens before you read SoundScan |
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what about mom and pops? |
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they might as well cooperate and wait 'til the bomb drop |
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get more cabbage, often time he wonder how they get so savage |
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V, not your average, often time he wonder how they got so savage |