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I don't care, as long as the bassline's pumpin |
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The drumline bangin away |
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Make one move and |
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I'll blow you away |
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One false move and |
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I'll blow you away [Black Thought] |
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Yo - I don't really know but somebody said that the |
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O.G. flow, it could fuck witcha head |
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And the po-lice know that the green black and red too strong to con-trol, they study what |
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I said Dig it - my name is ' |
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Riq, and when |
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I'm on the mic |
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I'm known to spit somethin that these |
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MC's hate |
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I couldn't care less what you feel what you say |
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Cause I gotta put it to you in my own special way - |
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I'm a MONS |
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TER! You know |
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I'm certified sick |
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I came from the corner where nobody got shit |
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Took the cards |
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I was dealt, turned it into hot spit |
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Now I'm not only a passenger, |
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I'm in the cockpit |
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Been a long time comin, |
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I was caught in the scramble of cats, tryin to do the same thing that they man do |
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Eagles born to fly, real is made to ramble "A Dangerous Mind," |
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I'm a prime example [Chorus] [Black Thought] |
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Superfans wanna run up on me sparkin the ground up |
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You need to fall back, could be |
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NARC's around us |
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You in a hot area for marchin powder |
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If you holdin chowder, just walk without it |
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Them real crook brothers don't talk about it |
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They never make a move 'til they thought shit out kid |
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I knew a lot of men who did bids for mayhem |
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They made a lot of money, they money never made them |
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The game of survival is filled with rivals |
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Knives and fo'-five slugs flyin in spirals |
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The wicked is diseased and it ain't all viral |
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Could be greed and gluttony bubblin inside you |
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Dawg, follow your pride, the rhythm'll guide you |
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Yo, follow them guys, them niggaz'll rob you |
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And have you up in somethin that dont' really involve you |
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But you don't give a fuck you wanna pump the volume, |
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I know [Chorus] [Black Thought] |
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Yo, aiyyo the waistline thumpin, the face kinda jumpin the game |
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Lookin sweeter than a bassline bumpin |
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Don't come 'round me sparks and waste time frontin |
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Them trick ass marks'll get the eight-five dumpin |
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It ain't really bout nothin - |
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Philly just love cuttin |
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They shut shit down before the law start shuttin |
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Get your route right cousin - be out nightclubbin relaxed |
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And wanna get lights out tonight brother, perhaps |
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It's the percussion that keeps shit, kinetic |
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For some it ain't as fame, more sweet the street credit |
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Some cats that play dirty didn't live, to regret it |
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But move to the music he can live through the record |
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I'm a Philly boss player, a dope rhyme sayer |
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It's Black |
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Ink back gettin cake by the layer by the stack, comin at us, get your weight right yeah |
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If not, you makin a mistake right there, f'real [Chorus - 2X] |