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It's all bad now man, it's all bad |
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'cause y'all done F* CKED up now |
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YEA! Ha ha, new sh*t, aiyyo |
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I just want the whole world to know |
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That I did not start this, but I will finish it |
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Comin' up, it never mattered what color you was |
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If you could spit, then you could spit |
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That's it, that's what it was |
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Back when, motherF* CKers was straight backpackin' |
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Cipherin', fightin' for life in this raft |
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For the mic to get past, and you psyched and you gasped |
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Then you hype, 'cause you last |
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And you might whoop some ass |
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If you lost, then you lost |
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Shake hands like a man and you swallowed it |
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When the Unsigned Hype column in The Source was like |
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The only source of life |
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When the mics used to mean something, a four was like |
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You were the sh*t, now it's like the least you get |
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Three and a half now just means you're a piece of sh*t |
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Four and a half or five |
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Means you're Biggie, Jigga, Nas, or Benzino |
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sh*t I don't even think you realize |
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You're playing with motherF* CKers' lives |
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I done watched Dre get F* CKed on The Chronic |
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Probably 'cause I was on it |
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Now you F* CKed me out of my mics twice, I let it slide |
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I said I wouldn't hold my F* CKin breath to get a five |
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sh*t I was right, I'da F* CKin died already tryin |
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I swear to God, I never lie, I bet that's why |
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You let that b*tch give me that bullsh*t review |
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I sat and took it, I ain't look at the sh*t, we knew |
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You'd probably try and F* CK us with Obie and 50 too |
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*Hock spit*, F* CK a relationship we through |
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No more Source for street cred, them days is dead |
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Ray's got AK's to Dave Mays' head |
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Every issue there's an eight page Made Men spread |
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Will somebody please tell whoever braids his head |
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That I am not afraid of this F* CKin waste of lead |
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On my pencil, for me to write some sh*t this simple |
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So listen closely, as I break it down and proceed |
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This old G's about to get smoked like rolled weed |
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You don't know me or my motherF* CKing mother |
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You motherF* CKing punk |
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Put me on your F* CKin cover just to sell your little |
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Sell-out mag, I ain't mad, I feel bad |
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Here's an ad, here's a poster of Ray-Ray and his dad |
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You wanna talk about some sh*t that you don't know about, yea? |
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Let's talk about how you're puttin your own son out there |
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To try to eat off him because you missed your boat |
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You're never gonna blow, b*tch, you're just too old |
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No wonder you're sore now, lordy you're bored now |
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I'm pushing thirty, you're kickin forty's door down |
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b*tch this is war now, and you'll never beat me |
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All you do is cheat me out of Quotables |
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But you know that you'll always see me |
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On your TV, 'cause you've got to stay up 'til |
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Three in the morning to see your video played once on BET |
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So, hee hee hee, who has the last laugh? Aftermath, yea |
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So on behalf of our whole staff, kiss our asshole cracks |
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We'll never fold or hold back, just know that |
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Benzino's wack, no matter how many times I say his name |
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He'll never blow jack |
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You're better off tryin to bring RSO back |
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Look at your track record, that's how far it goes back |
[02:51.44] |
It's extortion, and Ray owns a portion |
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So half of the staff up there is fresh out of jail from Boston |
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Bullyin and bossin Dave like a slave |
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They completely brainwashed him and forced him to stay |
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Locked in his own office |
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Afraid of the softest, fakest, wannabe gangsta in New York |
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And it's pitiful, 'cause I would have never said sh*t if you'da |
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Kept your mouth shut, b*tch, now what? |
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Hit it Clue, spit it Slay, new sh*t, exclusive |
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Yo Lantern, yo Whoo Kid, you know what to do with this |
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Use it, I'm through, this is stupid |
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I can't believe I stooped to this bullsh*t to do this |
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And who you callin a b*tch... b*tch? |
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You OWE me |