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We got cracks in our armor, got cracks in the ceiling |
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And this axe that we're wielding |
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Will react when we're feeling that |
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Crack, attack, attack, and we're on on you like like a Mack Truck |
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Your honor, we are that fucking filthy |
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[Sims] |
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It's 2000 and self destruct and everybody's yelling that shit is all fucked |
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Yuck, I never liked the construct of that square wheel, like "money ain't real" |
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Wait, but that ain't real. Oh, now I get it |
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We could take it all and split it, give it to the village |
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Doomtree villains out for the killing, no kidding |
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Good man but I went a bit bitter when they took a little bit of the dinner off my plate |
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High stakes, okay, Ill play, but it ain't your game |
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And it ain't your rules and it ain't your world, and I brought my crew |
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We some dirty lip fuck your rules living ugly goons |
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It's no kings, no way, You're so vain, you probably think it's about you |
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Well it is and it ain't, and it ain't but it is |
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I go so fucking nasty no restraint |
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Well I get props and I play it off, I see them hot and I fade them all |
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Hello world it's L.O.P. B.T.Z., keep your ring |
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Move out of my way, let me do my thing |
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Let me do my thing, I'mma do my thing |
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[Mike] |
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Friction lock rivet |
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Goonish as all fuck, prudent to all stunts |
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Proving the laws of logarithm like the wag of a dog's tail |
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Bark back, woof! Light the rag on your cocktail |
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SPart that, champ on that slang chop |
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Chump on that chomp rap, probably a stomp sack |
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Man, give me my prop back |
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Hold your tooth to my non dap, I ain't no Diddy boy |
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That Beni know we go scrimp dance |
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Dougie, don't stop that! |
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Senor Frreal Z three R zero |
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None other, who's cooler, hula-hooping through bank zeroes |
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Hewlett packing, loogie yacking on Don Hero's |
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Bomb appearance, nights in Paris, raw dogging cross limos |
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Toss demos, snot rockets blow up the sub-labels |
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Long tables, calling shots on a crowd potato |
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The slang mongrel with fanged tonsils |
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We slay goblins gangly gang violent |
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Wrangling fake monsters |
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[POS] |
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What's up? No kings, No love for your made up things |
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In the paint but it ain't no game on the wall with a little complaint |
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Leave that stain, weave through cities dodging rain |
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No thing but an open door, it's yours |
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No lie but you've got to get dirty man fix your pride |
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We some preach them real, reach them, steal them from low ideals type dudes |
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With a stepped up set of skills and an ick style so kill that wills update daily |
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No frills or pilled up babies |
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No posture phony just rock solid un-fuck-with-able dropped knowledge |
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No love for the bull horns give them |
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Throns get them in, swarm, let me make friends with a storm |
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Buddy get up close to the war |
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Insides out, no love for the boring |
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Naw, bored, and I bet the hearts off beating |
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Under hardwood flooring, poor man's Poe |