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Well, I'm the equalizer, known to be graphic |
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I clear static, breakin' up traffic, move, while I enter the groove |
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I'm on top and happy to prove, to whack MC's |
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Who claim to be better than me, no way |
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I'm frankly, more clever than all of you, each and every one |
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My son, pay close attention, I take your brain to another dimension |
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Hold it, mold it, shape it, you got a knife, yes, I wanna scrape it |
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Up and down, sideways, any way, I can be rude to you |
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But I'll rap and be crude to you and eat up |
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Toy ducks I beat up, I am the oven, your brains I wanna heat up |
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Mega, supersonic degrees |
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I come around, roastin' MC's with fire |
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To burn the toy, liar raw meat, turn the flame higher |
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Cook it like a fish, I'll hook it for any beat |
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It's time that I took it right, correctly to the top |
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With the rhythm and as your head, bop |
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I'm hype, for the critical beat down |
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I'm attacking them, my job is stacking them |
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For every rapper, must I be smacking them once, or twice in the face |
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With rough beats, producin' the bass that blow out |
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'Cause power to go out |
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Inner spark, I'm ready to blow out like this, altitude level |
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Reachin' forth, stompin' every devil in sight |
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You might just wanna bite |
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My illusions, mental confusions |
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You're a mark, skulls, I've been abusin' |
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Losin' any rapper who follow me |
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Your girl loves me, now, she wanna swallow me |
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Back up, move on to the rear |
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When I'm on the stage, should be clear speakin', goin' ear to ear |
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Places far, ducks would appear for the countdown |
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So you wait to rhyme and twist, stuttering, uttering |
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Parkay, margarine, everything butter and another thing |
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You shoulda been a Muppet, a toy boy, a fake scream puppet |
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I'm takin' titles and punks butter up it to me |
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Said, gee on the mic, and I'm hype for the critical beat down |
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Here's the K, combined the double O, swing in the L, I'm ready to go |
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As Keith, Rap, General Chief Executive plus exquisite |
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Mandatory, capital statements, I am the teacher |
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Preaching what makes sense |
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Class, you wasn't able to pass, for any germ or lice who come last |
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I'm boric, high computing acid |
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Get off the mic and won't you please pass it to me, for a one two check |
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Give me a pound and lots of respect |
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No hands, you disappointing my fans, you on reverb |
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And talking to cans, hello, how are you doing? |
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I come to wreck, and parties I'll ruin with rhymes, pumpin' up smoke |
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Diesel advances, makin' them choke and cough up |
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The hard headed, I'll soften, spongee, then after that, drink |
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Roll the assess, the Buddha with the ganji |
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Puff up, while I make tough stuff up |
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I'm Kool Keith, cold rippin' MC's |
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I'm hype for the critical beat down |