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I declare war |
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The joy becomes a rappifyin weapon |
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If you step in |
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When your draws get mobbed behind enemy lines |
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You become a sittin duck but fuck |
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I ain't givin em livin trifle |
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The pen and pad becomes a 12 gauge rifle |
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This is no laughing matter |
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Step into this you step in a minefield |
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Your body's scattered |
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You people drop pickin up the pieces |
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But only corny niggas |
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The attack from a brotha like the Buddy never ceases |
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Without a moment of silence the violence thickens |
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So if you ain't got it together you slim pickings |
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Shorts and prisoners are never taken |
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If you fakin all the booty competition |
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I'm a bag fuck a white flag |
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Get down and dirty like a brotha in the trench |
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Leave a nigga dead and stinkin as he wonders what his stench is |
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I'm bustin clip after clip |
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My artillery will funk on the punk |
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When ya wanna test my shit |
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[Interlude: horns and scratches] |
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[Breezly Brewin] |
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Tell it to hell is it |
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I feel my brain swell like meningitis |
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With the slightest mind motion |
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Givin me the notion |
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That I got it bad |
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I think I got a brain tumor |
|
Brain rumor |
|
Such a pain to analyze the strain and then understand it |
|
The seed was planted |
|
That shit is ill but still |
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The thought I'm lovin got the dome growin |
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With the biscuit in the oven |
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Shovin nothin but the nutrients |
|
My diet to support me |
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A whiff of the spliff |
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A guzzle of the forty to inspire fire thought |
|
To the mic there was marriage |
|
Causin competition |
|
Verbal miscarriage of the mental fetus |
|
Greet us with the rugged rhythm then I'm showin |
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I think I feel my water breakin thus I'm flowin |
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Timin my contractions |
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Concentratin on my breathin |
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Heavin curses at the father he has the funk |
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Cuz if I flunk my shit ain't livin |
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Pushin givin every bit of what I'm worth |
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And as the Brewin drops the lyrical |
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The miracle of birth |
|
[Interlude: horns and scratches] |
|
[Buddy Slim] |
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I be the sick ass brotha, nasty ass nigga |
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A phony motherfucker grave digga |
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I know this sounds rough |
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But I had enough to funk |
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So part of me the heart of me |
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So if you corny nigga |
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It's like cloggin up my artery |
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You cuttin circulation |
|
So now it's do or die |
|
While niggas always try to test my shit |
|
Only preservation of the funk is why I kick this |
|
As I give a simple diagnosis of the sickness |
|
[Breezly Brewin] |
|
Now upon the fruits of my labor |
|
Your ear feasts |
|
The beast from within |
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It's some shit ain't it |
|
The picture painted |
|
From the use of a noun and a verb might disturb |
|
We make you say, "Damn that nigga's crazy" |
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Well if we crazed, deranged well then we fittin |
|
If you say the world's a normal place |
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Who the fuck you kiddin? |
|
Your mind's blind if you say you haven't seen this |
|
As I walk the fine line between insanity and genius |
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[Interlude: horns and scratches] |
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[Fades out with piano] |