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Strangeulation II |
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(Verse 1: Godemis) |
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Deevil! |
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Prayin' at 12:12 for hell, felon to sell |
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And slept on a bed of nails, like nothing I've ever felt |
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Ghost in a shell was molded with other demons |
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As if I needed some help or a host to preserve the heathen |
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Got it, my brain is rotted, I swear to God that I'm not it |
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I'm set to go to the gallow as soon as the rope is knotted |
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I ain't highest of high then the hydra have used adrenaline |
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Came in the cypher clean, still smelling like putrid cinnamon |
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Then I'm in, enemy of the state, I'm straight at an angle |
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Stop risking and quit your bi*chin', it ain't like I'm raping a angel |
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Said I was magnifique, ya'll ain't f**kin' with it, capiche? |
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Not as safe as you would've thought with the devil under your feet |
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They throw a shot and then sit back and wait for some reaction |
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Ain't nothing to it but to do it, I'm a mummy rappin' |
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So get to clappin' or dissin' the clan you hatin' |
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Listen, the man is Jason and this is the Strangeulation |
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(Verse 2: Stevie Stone) |
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Stevie Stone, I'm on it, I'm so clever |
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Nobody comparing, I'm better, I put sh*t together |
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America's most elaborate rap, pick ya head up, huh |
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Small talkin'll get you wet up, huh, yeah |
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I'm ready to kill all you ni**as |
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The feelin', adrenaline that'll spillin' a mill |
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And yeah, I mill' all you ni**s |
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Ain't even reach out they climax, rather my celing on ni**as |
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And backin' a back, I'll backhand Billy you ni**as |
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Get busy on ni**as, this ain't no random some leakage |
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Stonie in the building, the bi*ches pull out their cleavage |
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The snake and the bat, you see them prominent features |
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The species, Strangeland, we rain on your region, huh |
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Meat wagon, I come, I be taggin' 'em |
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Baggin' 'em, bring 'em clusters of three, got three magnums |
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Gaggin' em out, you pu**ies is still talkin' |
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I'm draggin' 'em out, I'm tappin' 'em out |
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(Verse 3: Murs) |
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Aww sh*t, they f**ked around and signed a backpacker |
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Smart, rich, handsome, plus he's not a bad rapper |
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I'm just a little local talent that f**ked around and made it big |
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Underground bully, pickin' on all these famous kids |
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And the danger is, now I'm doin' stranger biz |
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About to make the world forget about what a major is |
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Independent Powerhouse, running all these cowards out |
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My enemies are all forgotten, wishin' I would shout 'em out |
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And I don't want to hear a rapper harmonize unless |
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He thuggish, ruggish, Lazy, Krayzie, Bizzy, Wish or Flesh |
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But maybe I'm just hatin' 'cause my black ass could never sing |
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And f**k that autotune I hope the Futures filled with better things |
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And you a f**king liar if you say you found a better team |
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Impossible! Like trying to fit my di*k inside my wedding ring |
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And all the bread it brings will be distributed and properly |
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I represent for hip hop not some f**king aristocracy |
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(Verse 4: Brotha Lynch Hung) |
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I'm the Martin Scorsese of rap, rap predator |
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Better than severin' the reverend with a jackknife |
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Kevin and eleven of 'em, revvin' up the engines |
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We bubblin' up like 7-Up, then when |
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We shoot that sh*t, we eat that sh*t for din-din, grrr |
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I don't need ya f**kin' okay, ah, are you serious? I'm okay |
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I'mma make you bleed like it's your period, period |
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I eat period pu**y so eating you ain't serious |
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What, you need for me to flip that sh*t and rip that sh*t |
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Like a skitzo, stick that sh*t, that sh*t, like a automatic pistol grip? |
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No! I created this fast rap, I'm past that |
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I put a gat in that ass crack and blast that |
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I'm light years ahead of 'em, might use the head of 'em |
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I lose, then you can keep the breadcrumbs |
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Grrr, my ni**a, I'm a carnivore |
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Ready for any kind of war, any kind of score |