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Intro: It's goona be that, it's gonna be that shit |
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Hook: Lounge homeboy you in the danger zone (x8) |
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Verse 1: Keith |
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Murray is this mic phychosis |
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I break your best rappers off thousands of pieces |
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I'm on some other shit splittin' wigs with my penmanship |
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Kick flows harder then the music so feel in your head and chest |
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And pass it to the next |
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They gave me 5 mic checks and all due respect |
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So please fill it up and check the anitfreeze |
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Cause this nigga |
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Keith drop mad degrees |
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I launch tomahawk missles when |
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I talk with permiscuesus |
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Intelligence like |
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Mr. Romp From |
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New York unto the world over |
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I walk MC's like |
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Jesus walked on water |
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As my airy frequency reigns through the galaxy |
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I easily gets busy and takes 3 |
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I'm the nicest |
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MC on this side of the pennisula |
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Stuck in the perimeter like a ninja |
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Hook Verse 2: |
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The Def Squad |
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MC's is shittin' on your new transmitters |
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Not quiters now forgetters |
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Runnin' deep like rivers (word 'em up) what is |
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My delivers, which is, givin' crews the shivers |
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I'm like a mad scientist with this son |
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I concock some shit that'll bust the sun |
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I got the stunky funky illest funk flow |
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For the glamorous scandalous world of radio |
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So how you want? |
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Headcreads or ceelo? |
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I gets root deep like cavity cretes |
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Rockin' motherfuckers directly to sleep |
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A tybarrious rebel without a pause for the cause |
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And no claws the style is the son of noise |
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Peace to the hardcore the outlaw raw |
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Bug youngblood thugs, strong as ? 64 ounce jugs |
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In the realms of the danger |
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Hook Verse 3: |
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Bust the contrast and how |
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I forecast |
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Supersonic hyperphonic goin' on that ass paragraph |
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With the million dollar bionic metaphoric lyrical math |
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Generating off the chronic |
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By cooling in the dark path and the drug rath of the ath |
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And the ill shit that |
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I craft It's labeled as sick logic to the critics of the didicks |
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But they don't know the half of the half |
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The apperatus status of a maddisist |
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I conqure up a new style puffin' ganja, over the hook |
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Causin' more trama with my mouth then the stealth bomber |
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Killing every style in the book |
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Like it's goin' outta style tomorrow |
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My style is coming from down south and cross yonder |
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I drop the dope shit for masses and non-believers |
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Like spiral passes to butter finger wide recievers |
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As my photo type sound gays leis and hoes my style probe |
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To the farthest reaches of the globe |
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Payin' dues got me cockin' tools, you fuckin' fools |
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I'm rippin' crew and no exception to the the god damn rules |
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This is danger |
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Hook |