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[Intro] [Apathy talking]: |
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Yeah, you know we came up on an era where everybody was original. |
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Had to have their own style and shit. Now everybody tryin' to sound like everybody else. |
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[Scratch Chorus]: [x4] |
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"I'm ill versatile, with the skill no more |
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Wack MC's wanna flex but their styles ain't raw" - Dice Raw 'The Lesson Part II' |
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[Verse One] [Apathy]: |
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It's like I conjured demons |
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Got bitches at my concert screamin' |
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Like a naval recruiter they truly want the semen/sea men |
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Rip MCs at the seams leaved 'em stomped as cement |
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I bring these motherfuckers hell if they don't repent |
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Give 'em aneurysms when I start usin' big words |
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So I speak to 'em real simple to 'em like Big Bird |
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This has been brought to you by the letter "A" |
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Better pray you get away when I let Beretta's spray |
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Get erased, get replaced real quick in this rap biz |
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Like the long answers on a second grade math quiz |
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Stick to simplifying for you simple minded Simple Simons |
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This is simple science when I spit it's signifying |
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That my spit is flyin' |
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I could spit shine the sun's surface |
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This verse is hot as fire, breathin' dragon's verses |
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I hate to burst your bubble but you faggots been bottle fed |
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Noddin' your noggins to what I'm sayin' like bobble heads |
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So boggle your mind and crack a bottle of wine |
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Over your dome till your skull is at the bottom of your spine |
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So dope you gotta rewind a lot of the rhymes |
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If Jesus Christ read my notebook then God will go blind |
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[Scratch Chorus]: [x4] |
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"I'm ill versatile, with the skill no more |
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Wack MC's wanna flex but their styles ain't raw" - Dice Raw 'The Lesson Part II' |
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[Verse Two] [Celph Titled]: |
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When I speak it's a problem |
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I'm a beast and a goblin |
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Fuckin' a MILF that closely resembles Marie Osmond |
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And I've been |
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Layin' in the cut mind controllin' elephants |
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Stab your face with a tusk, orchestrator of death |
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I am a black reverend |
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Monitor your stats, it's all you need is Monistat 7 |
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Singin' +Eye Of The Tiger+ but you in eyeliner |
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Mile high club, flight attendent goin' down on a guy sky diver |
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In 2-0-9 I function 500 rounds |
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I'm dumpin' a Gatling gun to your dome |
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We act like dynamite inside a pumpkin |
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Sadistic appendages |
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My whole body's evil |
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Havin' fun with two guns hittin' like |
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"Some double desert eagles" - Gang Starr 'You Know My Steez' |
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We cop cars that look like cop cars |
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And got heli-copters to zero in on hella cop car |
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And send a missile at ya official tissue |
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Cause your track sound gayer than the +Mr. Wendell+ instrumental |
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Detrimental to your squad |
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I'll distance members and dis-member body parts |
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And gift rap 'em for this December |
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Death is the plan |
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You will meet Ed McMahon when I clear you out |
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Cause bombs that I Publish be Clearing House |
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[Scratch Chorus]: [x4] |
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"I'm ill versatile, with the skill no more |
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Wack MC's wanna flex but their styles ain't raw" - Dice Raw 'The Lesson Part II' |
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[TV Show sample]: |
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Look! Up in the sky. It's a bird! It's a plane! It's... |
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[Verse Three] [Chino XL}: |
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The Puerto Rican Superhero! |
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Yo, I'm angry like my momma just beat me with a switch |
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Madder than Nick Cannon when Eminem be dissin' his bitch |
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Big Chino is known to be a wild kid |
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Y'all refuse to get tested |
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You know, that ? shit |
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Where ever there's drama I'ma fly and find the fucker |
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Beat him in the face till he's ugly like Usher's baby's mama |
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I pray for your death and I pray that I'm the cause of it |
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Idiot, killin' a blind man with his own walkin' stick |
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Mind quickest simpliest riddles |
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I wittle all arithmetics |
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I memorize ridiculous, I can hypnotize a hypnotist |
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Spittin' less than 33 ounces, still considered a liter/leader |
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My skills are far fetched like a Labrador Retriever |
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I mean I, keep a lot of balls |
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Only rivaled by the Gods of Mars |
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Watchin' Mya's ass shake on Dance With The Stars |
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My foes plot against me |
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My verbal molest and deserve to be put in chairs of electric |
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Like Roman Polansky |
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I put that I target artists on my resume |
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And place them in puddles of blood you can see 80 miles away |
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Your survival is decided by which side of the bed I wake up on |
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Worship the works of the wordsmith like it was a cross |
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My effect on women is hard to explain |
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I can piss on they head and convince them that it's rain |
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I'm vain |
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My six pack makin' bitches love me more |
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Get out of line and get punched like you Snookie on The Jersey Shore |
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My raw thoughts are awful |
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I'm so twisted I could eat an iron nail and |
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Shit out a cork screw |
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My writtens are displayed inside of Egyptian pantheons |
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Chino is bananas |
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I spit potassium and calcium and ummm |
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You ain't feelin' my spillings? Only a minor loss |
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Cause I am bad to the bone like a rotting corpse |
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My word a monologue |
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Keep rappers scared to go up in the booth |
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Like it's Magic Johnson's wife's vagina raw |
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[Scratch Chorus]: [x4] |
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"I'm ill versatile, with the skill no more |
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Wack MC's wanna flex but their styles ain't raw" - Dice Raw 'The Lesson Part II' |
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[Outro] [Celph Titled talking]: |
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Yeah. The coalition of the spoken word crack cookers. |
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Celph Titled. Apathy. Chino XL. Shuttin' shit the fuck down. |
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Buckwild. D.I.T.C. Forever and ever motherfucker. |