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Pure microphone magic |
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Carving up mc's, straight up torch their weak embellishments |
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Getting it |
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Put it on |
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Dirty download gigolo with the illest flow |
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Yeah |
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Perverted Monk high chief |
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[Afu-Ra] |
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Life Force moving swiftly |
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Pitch forks steady miss me |
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My renaissance, my brother's light eclipse me |
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My rough callous feet stomping on these city streets |
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**** that turn the other cheek |
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Unless you squeeze a peach |
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No parental advisory, so no need for the bleeps |
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No comin' in my crib unless you wipin' your feet |
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I hit the street, I feel good plus complete |
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A lotta hot rappers ain't nothing without their beat |
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Mark my name, on the clipboard, I gets raw |
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When I was sixteen, that's when I used to rip for it |
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Like Jiminy Cricket, hopping over the candle stick |
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Watchin' my ass, and yo I learnt quick |
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I'm nifty, shifty with my dirt, G |
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Doing my thing, put in work, ain't nothing hurt me |
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I bring it from front to back, white to black |
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Shoe to hat, use clues I'm doin' that |
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Rhyme skills the dopest, the lyrical style I spit is ferocious |
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You feel the beat in the streets and get close to this |
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So while I do my thing, you do your thing |
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Caress the mic like a baby to make your head bang |
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Rhyme skills the dopest, the lyrical style I spit is ferocious |
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Feel the beat in the streets and get close to this |
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So while I do my thing, do your thing |
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Carve my name in your brain, make your head bang |
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Monumental, thoughts flowing sequential |
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The quintessential mental, tapping into |
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My focus, take it round like a rental |
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And if I have to cut you with my gonzo |
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I'm like a warless sword, I'm digging into |
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Like you can joust defence |
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So many strokes and slashes let off |
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You ain't got not fingerprints |
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Carve you up with my Rambo, ammo |
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Looking like leather-face, trippin' on the dance floor |
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Too much hypocrisy, up in the market, B |
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It ain't about talent, it's all about the currency |
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My magna opus, addicted plus the dopest |
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Maybe I'll write a line and fara canna quote this |
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They got status but can't work the apparatus |
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How could a project sell millions |
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Talking 'bout millions, when half their buyers ain't seen a thousand |
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Rhyme skills the dopest, the lyrical style I spit is ferocious |
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Feel the beat in the streets and get close to this |
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So while I do my thing, do your thing |
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Caress the mic like a baby to make your head bang |
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Rhyme skills the dopest, the lyrical style I spit is ferocious |
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Feel the beat in the streets and get close to this |
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So while I do my thing, do your thing |
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Carve my name in your brain, make your head bang |
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Times is kinda critical, that's why I gotta keep it lyrical |
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Simple and plain, cos I don't wanna riddle you |
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I'm tryin' to black out, cos I'll blow your back out |
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Pullin' my axe out, do a M.O.P. mash out |
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With my dreads out, an' I ain't no type of boy scout |
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Mr Life Force, but you call me The Count |
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Got so many names, that I can't even count |
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Let's see: Paisley, 5th Thaing, Mr How, Dr Intergalactic |
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My other names is under the mattress |
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Now you can get your grades pissed on |
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After your body's been buried |
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From trying to get your diss on |
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Wax off, wax on |
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My calm is bringin' a storm, from the night until the early morn' |
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I got so many styles, forget the grape with wine |
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Life Force on the mic, an' 'bout to put it on |
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Takin' you ass away like I was Kogon |
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Rhyme skills the dopest, the lyrical style I spit is ferocious |
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Feel the beat in the streets and get close to this |
|
So while I do my thing, do your thing |
|
Caress the mic like a baby to make your head bang |
|
Rhyme skills the dopest, the lyrical style I spit is ferocious |
|
Feel the beat in the streets and get close to this |
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So while I do my thing, do your thing |
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Carve my name in your brain, make your head bang |