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(feat. Sean Price, Jus Allah & Doujah Raze) |
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[Intro: Sean Price] |
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Yeah...Peace to the god, Jus Allah |
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Doujah Raze, what up? |
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Snowgoons (Peace) |
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Boot Camp...what up? |
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German Lugers...aiyyo... |
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[Verse 1: Sean Price] |
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The god send you back to the Earth from which you came |
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Backsmack Earth, wind, fire and rain |
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Elemental, the god get busy to instrumentals |
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Yeah you get busy, but that's all in your mental |
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I sent you a note sayin', "Son, don't rhyme" |
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You ain't listen, in turn he got burnt with the nine |
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Here's a gun, there's a gun, just...everywhere's a gun |
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I guess everybody pussy, scared to shoot a fair one |
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I will Larry Holmes your dome, Shane Mosley your homey |
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Felix Trinidad your dad, duke you don't know me |
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Riddick Bowe my ho, punch the bitch in the face |
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Run up on her like anime, eat this cake |
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Eat this eight, slugs inside of your mug |
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Got the Eagle from Balegal plus I'm puffin' on drugs |
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I'll wrap your dome, no dough, no rap |
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Freebies get VD, yo ass get "clap," P! |
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[Chorus: x2] |
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[M.O.P.:] "We got guns!" |
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[Tony Yayo:] "Got them German Lugers, with them hollow tips" |
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[M.O.P.:] "Guns!" |
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[Jus Allah:] "Put a ****in' bullet in your lips, swallow this!" |
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[Verse 2: Jus Allah] |
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Are your parents home? You're not old enough to be left alone |
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May I come in? I have to use the telephone |
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So, what's to do 'round here for fun? |
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I know, show me where dad keeps the guns |
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Look inside the barrel, I think it's not loaded |
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Pull the trigger back, here, hold it |
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Oops, my bad, you're ****in' dead now, look what you did |
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A little soul, arose up out the little kid |
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Are you a bad ghost or a good ghost? |
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Man I'm bored, I gotta go now, thanks, you've been a good host |
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Now time to light the good smoke |
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Aww shit, I left the bag of trees in my other cloak |
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I'm tryin' to get blazed, what the ****'s on? P and Doujah Raze |
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Each second I'm sober is like days |
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I need the bright green haze inside my head |
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So I can laugh about your silly little child that's dead |
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[Chorus] |
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[Verse 3: Doujah Raze] |
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Take a toke, this perfect |
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When I fill my lungs with the smoke and start workin' |
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Leave the mic hurtin', murkin' on you mercenaries |
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You ain't got no rhymes duke, searchin' through the dictionary, keep my diction scary |
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Peep the visionary as I creep precision carry through the deep |
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I throw shade on your sleep, yeah |
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Come one, come all, it's the bumrush |
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You can find your face on the floor with your lung dust |
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The ****? These mic skills are no frills |
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And I don't need the hype of the blow and no pills |
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And I can take a flight 'cross the ocean, no bills |
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And I can keep my height through the low with no ills |
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And I can build overseas with the boom |
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Sean P., Doujah Raze, Jus Allah in the room, yeah |
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Smokin' boom, gettin' regular |
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Tryin' to get some food for the show, madness, et cetera, yeah |
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[Outro: Doujah Raze] |
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Snowgoons...DJ Illegal |
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Dat...We up in Germany |
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Deutschland, mutha****as |
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[M.O.P.:] "We got guns!" |