| Off r-i-i-i-p, y-e-e-e-ah
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| Go, go, go, go
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| Off r-i-i-i-p, y-e-e-e-ah
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| Go, go, go, go
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| Off r-i-i-i-p, y-e-e-e-ah
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| Go, go, go, go
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| Ya better pay up when we hitting ya door
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| Or your only other option is kissing the floor
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| It’s Big Shug, Term' and Singapore
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| Money getters, L blowers, clapping the fours
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| It’s mayhem massacre, Murderpan mangler
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| It’s so damn real that the Preme beat strangle ya
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| It’s about time real came back around
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| Your silly circus shit with a game full of clowns
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| We still puffing perfect, splitting dutch with chocolate
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| Pay attention now, hip hop apocalypse
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| We hear ya slick talkers wanna boss flipping lips
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| Any real time, GangStarr, Full Clip
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| Got down on my knees, gave the sky a kiss
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| Got some words from the Guru that I’ll never forget
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| He said, «Sorry Shug for that Solar shit
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| Make 'Em Pay up now. |
| Get it off rip.»
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| Off the rip I’ll rip off ya head
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| Let the gun tongue kiss you with lead
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| Tears shed, bodies missing and dead
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| Then I’ll piss on ya bed
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| Throw a brick at your head
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| The infa-red is never impotent
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| Pop up with the steel make the gun get intimate
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| Choppers in the church parking lot cause we ignorant
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| Coppers we avoid 'em, they killing people that’s innocent
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| Give me an AK and a pig, we getting into it
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| Kla-kla-kla bang bang boom
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| Ready to give my life address it at your wife’s address
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| To put a target on the dress
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| They say you wanna kill a man’s pride, go and kill his bitch
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| I’ll say, «Kill his mama and make his father go dig a ditch»
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| You rappers ain’t sick like me
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| Roll up to the club strapped with a 100 spics like me
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| I just drank a whole bottle of Jose to the dome straight
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| And this Rosay, I probably won’t be getting home straight
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| Off rip I’m like the smoothest dude rolling with the rudest crew
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| Bring your cutie through and we’ll twist her like Rubix Cube
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| Make her twist my doobie too cause youse a
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| You always scared like Shaggy and Scooby Doo
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| I’m hostile, thoughts wild cause I ain’t a lost child
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| But I got style closet tonight: stockpile
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| Super high and fly, life is the alibi
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| Limit is the sky, Livin' Proof like Malachi
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| Slap a body slammer guy or let the hammers fly
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| You hear that sound? |
| Better duck like Anaheim
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| Skirt wearing bozos but nah you ain’t homo
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| It’s just for the promo
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| They matching with they Polos
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| But y’all know my steez, wave grease and some Wallabys
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| My eyes bloodshot red because I swallow trees
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| Off rip I ripped off cause of my melanin
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| But bad to the skeleton when you’re soft like gelatin
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| «Count the mics that I rip» |