| You ain’t got to say «It's a go»
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| In my lane, I won’t follow
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| All I do is dropped, an old volcano
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| Another day breaks, my game stays insanity
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| Lighting bolt hits the beat, another battery
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| Charged, behind bars, I have no gravity
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| Fresh out the lab, white coat to infinity
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| Sayyid, aluminum trunks with new chemistry
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| Followed by Buffy, the Body, and two symphony
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| Some amenities for the energy of the ministry
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| That independently is responsible for the divinity
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| Televangelists hand me the hammers and the manuscripts
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| Then I get to shootin' and zoomin' like Los Angeles
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| Proper ambulance, light the candles and burn the cannabis
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| Your boy’s big trip, tell shorty to pack sandwiches
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| Couple flashlights and water and gauze bandages
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| We goin' roamin' when no one’s flowin' alone
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| It’s not understood (dootsrednu ton s’ti)
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| Till I come back with computers for the hood
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| A 7 Series and something sick with a throttle
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| Ugly on a strip like Rosie O’Donnell
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| Then vanish into a tunnel while angels singing soprano
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| And clock sees my shadow ‘cause we are tomorrow
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| Back it’s that native New York hork, the talk that we walk
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| Is sideways, raised and amazed
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| My aim when I came in the game was about change
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| Without doubt watching the haters about-face
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| The Brett Favre of bars with boys above par
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| Cut from a stitch in a cloth that’s long lost
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| Switching off the switch in your back, switching me on
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| Switchin' on the Michelin S-men, chess men
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| Old vet send young rappers over the bench and get it
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| So many shots, who’s fitted with it, who benefitted
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| With a pen we needed to get it over division
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| Your hoping it is more like this when although there isn’t
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| My team leading illegally when receivers leavin'
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| You been taking a beating, you beastin'
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| Gentle my gentlemen, your measurement is miniscule
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| Mr. Primetime, shit on your shine, clock-cleaner
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| Closed casket, the magnificent bastard
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| Will break your heart and enjoy it, but scared away and avoid it
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| Heat like a fire alarm with no battery
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| Yeti, crop circle, psycho, Dr. Mangle-a-Mic
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| Brought riot back, the ball back is ball-bean
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| Close as quilts, shell-shocked the body body
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| Let’s celebrate, it’s a festival so there are decibels
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| Worry the whack, we too worried to speak
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| Amazed, spit amazing, a maze so amazing
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| Y’all same old same old, lame old volcano, holla back
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| Buzz like ten tinnitus, on the mic it touch like Midas
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| Sees the brightest of the brightest the right way all day
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| On your knees you pray
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| For the return, the abstract rap Rat Pack is back |