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(Verse 1: Celph Titled) |
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Yeah, you goddamn right it’s Celph Titled |
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The granddaddy grenade, mother ******* |
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With my man 7L the devastator |
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This is how we do this *************t |
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Yo, my most prized possession is my knife collection |
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All types of different slices selections, the nicest |
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Weapons from the Get Right Reverend |
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Wiling out on *************s with outlandish rage |
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Plus I’m known to tote the iron like a Spanish maid |
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That’s going to body you, really like straighten you out |
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Don’t think I won’t put the barrel straight in your mouth |
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How many times can I write about the same old *************t |
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I guess I won’t find out until y’all stop buying it |
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But until then it’s guns, *******, punch lines and human accords |
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There’s kids across the world to argue over computers |
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Who’s the best? Celph Titled cause he writes heaters |
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Caught so many bodies he should be the MVP wide receiver |
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I seen your chick where the groupies be |
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And when she’s in my bed sounding off key like Looney-D |
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You out looking for the *************, all nervous and *************t |
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I took her to the A-Train and wrote this verse for 7L’s mix |
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It’s dangerous to play the role of a gangster |
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When you dealing with a gangster who employs many gangsters |
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Suffered and lifted on my back to make a queens soldier |
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Southside will flatten you like steam rollers |
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(Verse 2: Big Scoob) |
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Unh hunh, Big Scoob baby |
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AKA Johnny mother ******g Famous |
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Brooklyn, all day, you heard, trend setters |
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I ************* hos, dimes, ******* in they prime |
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Hood rat chickens who ain’t got one dime |
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Don’t give a ************* if you swole |
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I fill you with holes |
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*************s will think you’re Kwame |
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From the dots in your clothes |
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With a chain in your rhyme |
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Wrist that don’t *************ne |
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*************s want to be jigga but ain’t got one dime |
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Everybody hot, everybody pop glock |
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Man you only seen a gun cause your pops a cop |
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I kick real *************t, Brownsville on the hill *************t |
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Big Scoob, Trend Setters, something you can feel *************t |
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I Spray your block like graffiti, what |
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And wait for 5-0 to get an autographed CD |
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None of y’all *************s spit lines like these |
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I’ll have your ************* yelling please Hercules, Hercules |
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Its war, it’s like you a dead man walking |
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Trend Setters tired of you ************* *************s talking |
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(Verse 3: Terra) |
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Unnh, Terra, new *************t, ha ha |
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Ay yo, there come a time |
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When everything must change |
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When y’all gotta stop selling the ************* out |
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That time is right now |
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You better ask about me, I’m the thug ************* |
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Whip out a shank and a ************* in your back |
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*************t on your track, I get it down now |
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They be calling me fire, the rapper die ************* |
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The assassin for hire |
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Took everything I was taught to see what I can do |
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************* you hating ass *******, you heard, you *************s too |
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The ain’t your local radio station, come on dog |
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This ain’t a broadcast live from the parking lot in the mall |
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These circles in the streets will get you the ************* hurt |
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And the last thing you want to do is spit your hottest *************t first |
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How you want it dog? In your ass or your mouth |
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And you ain’t got that much time because my *************t is about to come out |
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And I will *************, bite your ******g head off too |
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Out with a 4,5 and 6 like kiss, a range too |
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If you truly a queen, then I’m talking to you |
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I’m the heir to the thrown and I’m coming the ************* through |
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It’s my turn Terra |