| Turn up your radio, stand by the speakers
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| Brace yourself, or you might get weaker
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| My rhymes hypnotize your total insides
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| Now we’re about to take a serious ride
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| Meet me, here’s the introduction
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| My name’s Freddie Foxxx, and I’m the rap seductor
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| You wanna run up, run up right to come get this
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| So you can all witness lyrical fitness
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| The rapper that you’re hearin is the microphone killer
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| The b-boy idol and the fly girl thriller
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| The microphone mangler, MC strangler
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| Milky as silk pads, rougher than Wrangler
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| Mad for the mic, waitin in a rage
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| I’m tight and all anxious to rush the stage
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| Rappers sit back, relax and get cosy
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| I’m about to play y’all like ring around the rosie
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| Pack up your rhymes and move south
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| Or else it’s '1st round, Freddie by a knock-out'
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| You can’t move, I got you surrounded
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| Huh, cause I wrote rhymes and bass pounded
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| To the body (*cutting*) to the head (*cutting*)
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| How you gonna last on stage with Fred?
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| Your mind’s workin overtime thinkin bout the latest
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| Hit from the baritone voice of the greatest
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| Open your eyes, so you can all see it
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| If you wanna go out like a whimp, then so be it
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| I keep comin, it never stops
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| Kill your brain, give you no props
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| Blast the music, see what you’re missin
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| Stop (stop) look (look) and listen
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| (Warning)
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| Watch the Foxxx
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| Time is precious, so I’mma keep goin
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| Bustin off rhymes, watch me keep flowin
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| When I storm, you’re in my way, you’re smashed
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| Drug to the Dungeon, and then crashed
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| Line em up one at a time, and I take em
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| Bring em up, 5s and 10s, and I break em
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| Nobody walks, all comers get hurt
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| Killin up MC’s, that’s my work
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| See, rappers wanna strong-arm, but they ain’t strong enough
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| To bite a rhyme, cause their wind ain’t long enough
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| Take the breath of death when you chew my rhymes
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| If you wish to die so early, fine
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| Music in the background sets the sound
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| For me to grab the mic and break it down
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| One line compliments the next, and you’re fiendin on it
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| It’s like you can’t even walk, so you lean on it
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| Then I guide ya, saddle and ride ya
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| The voice of the Foxxx ringin all inside ya
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| Place your bets, his rhymes will wet
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| And even if I dried him off, he still sweats
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| Soak him in scratches, beats and rhymes
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| Nobody else’s — mines
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| Walk on stage and try to be the man
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| And watch Foxxx kick the mic our your hand
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| Call you 'son', make you sit in your corner
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| And slap you up like little Jack Horner
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| If the message ain’t clear by now, you won’t know it
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| Be careful, steppin to Foxxx and you’ll blow it
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| Blast the music, see what you’re missin
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| Stop (stop) look (look) and listen
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| Yo, Kut Terrorist, back up the music
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| Break out some hip-hop, watch me protrude this
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| The music is well composed
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| If you cover your ears, the beat’ll bust your nose
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| My style is dark, indeed, goes a thousand leaps
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| Into the minds of those that sleep
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| For those wide awake, sit and observe
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| The musical master of a million words
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| Or would you rather see a basic MC?
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| If so, leave, cause that ain’t me
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| The brag-andboastin, so-called hostin
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| Need a little lesson in burn-and-roastin
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| Catch the beat, and clap your hands
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| And see if we can get all the skins to dance
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| Open your eyes and ears, stop and look, this ain’t dissin
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| You just have to listen |