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Verse One: Xzibit |
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(See look look) |
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I grab the mic and start breakin down niggas |
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wit out no problem |
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broadcastin live from the bottom/aint no mic checkin worse/ |
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kick some rhymes if you got/but if it's wack |
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I draw back the cap for the peelin |
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should of stuck to rock dealin |
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cuz it's the blood stealin/super vill.. |
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chill..stayin high like the ceilin |
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see there aint enough room for the both of us |
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see it's a showdown/throw down |
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your best style I'll bust |
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(yo)I write rhymes that make niggas throw they sets up |
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couldn't hold my style if you had a pair of handcuffs |
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In all disrespect |
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I'll snatch you by your neck |
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and do a suplex and step |
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so nigga you can check my credentials |
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just hard rhymes and instrumentals |
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Xzhibit smash you wit a dental |
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and a loaded pistol |
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no longer lookin in the window |
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I'll bust a field wit indo |
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killin quarts of beer |
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Sadie's outta here... |
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Verse Two: MC Breeze |
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Like a fuze/start spreadin the news |
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its 94 and Breeze is givin niggas the blues |
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I paid my dues/and now it's time to go on to the next mode |
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make room for the kaboom/cuz I'm about to explode |
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and drop bombs like a B1/cops I seize none |
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and niggas step up/I soak emcseason |
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3 seconds to detinate/you betta evacuate |
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no time to hesitate/you fuckin featherweight |
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I aint the type to pic up the mic |
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and catch the stage fright |
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I'll pull a gauge if I aint paid right |
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to the promoters on tour |
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short me a buck and a buckshot and the barrel is yours! |
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I'm psycho pathic like Manson |
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aint wit the dancin |
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but still I get more Cheers than Ted Danson |
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more dough than Marino or roles than Pacino |
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you beatin me? that's only in your dreams ho |
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I'm not sayin I'm unbeatable/I'm sayin I'm untouchable |
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livin comfortable just like a Huxtable |
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plus I'm rollin wit the cross roads |
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movin fast foward/while you other suckas |
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stuck in a pause mode |
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I goes deep like a great white |
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but I'm a stay black |
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no matter how high the pay stacks |
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or if my rep gets bigger |
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you might get take this nigga out the ghetto |
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but not the ghetto out this nigga..... |
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Verse Three: J-Ro, Tash |
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For the balls basketballs |
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microphones gassin grass(hey) |
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some of the few things J-Ro likes to pass |
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93 mandingo/94 I'm the pharoah |
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cuz I'm b-bbad to the bone marrow |
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I get wild |
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wit more styles than the martial arts |
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I need weed |
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I roll more grass than golf carts |
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April 92 you no the Ro was a looter |
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now I'm writin raps on my lab-top computer |
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J-Ro the tittie fiend/rap dean/wearin green |
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been on the scene/since the age of 13 |
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I learned I had to earn the mic |
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now's my turn |
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I got Furious Styles like Larry Fishburne... |
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Wit da bitches tunin me in |
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like it's the Young and the Restless |
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next up to bust my shit |
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from the L-I-K-S's |
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yes it's the freshest |
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wit lyrics rough around the edges |
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I'll smoke you on the mic |
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like a pack of Benson Hedges |
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But..hold up wait |
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I'll bust rhymes that'll circulate |
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that'll wake yo punk ass up like MC Eiht |
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cuz I be rockin rhymes |
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since the roof was on fire |
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so point me to the bitch who's the dopest butterflyer |
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I'll make her break it down like she Patra when I catch ya |
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Broadway is on the tables |
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while I throw these lyrica atcha |
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so....slow down before ya fuck wit my sound |
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you betta do the hokey pokey |
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and turn ya self around... |