| It’s that Blackout, spazzed out, G-String divas
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| Leave you assed out, passed out, it’s cold
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| Pack your heat up, blow your back out
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| You bad mouth, make 'em all believers
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| Throwing rocks from a glass house, y’all ain’t perfect either
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| See that cheeba and that hash out (garbage day tomorrow)
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| And I have yet to take that trash out, or emptied this cigar
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| RZA, Rah, we amped, eh, Meth is on his job
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| It ain’t nothing, like the French say; |
| «che sera sera»
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| So let’s move on, until the day we laying in the casket
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| With them suits on, and I’m so cool that hell is only luke warm
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| Been too strong, for too, long, I’ll probably die
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| With my boots on, and on my way to cash a coochie coupon
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| You know I’m, proper, don’t let them boys confuse you
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| The fact is Meth, I’m harder than bottles made by Yoo-Hoo
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| Wu-Tang, welcome to the House of Flying Daggers
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| Where the truth aim, flying out the mouth of flying rappers
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| There it is…
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| Now, ask yourself, is this for real, it can’t be My, nigga, if it ain’t for real, it ain’t me
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| I, elect myself as presidential M.C.
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| I, elect myself as presidential M.C.
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| Now, ask yourself, why is he so low key
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| Why, is niggaz pimpin’when the game chose me
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| I, elect myself as presidential M.C.
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| I, elect myself as presidential M.C.
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| Yo, blew 'em and hit 'em, and he went into a spin cycle
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| Outblew his liver, a river flooded, what’s happening
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| It’s drugs we wanted, gloves buttered, thug coverage
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| This is Fila, white sneaker, Louis Vitton luggage
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| I came, representative huddle, they all love you
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| That W, the legacy of little niggaz muggin’you
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| The fuck, what’s up with you, yo, you suck, nigga
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| Benches used to pluck niggaz, we be on the roof, like «fuck you»
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| Them red beams is coming, losers, got to walk the plank
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| Users, with uzi’s on 'em, you move, you getting spanked
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| Shank broilers banked, alcoholics ranked ballers
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| They should call us, I rock mad ice like a walrus
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| The lamesters decided to lure us, we was up in Freedomtown
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| Getting weeded, one Bentley tour bus, you might like the mack and explore dust
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| You can’t fuck with all of us, one of us dropped, there’s twenty more of us Peel caps like tangerines, you shook/shake like tamberines
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| Then, jet from the set, in the all black Lamborghin'
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| Nobody seen me, bitch in a tini red bikini
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| Niggaz saw her, because they thought they saw a genie
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| Heidi Klum, pussy juicy, fat as a plum
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| Picture on the wall in jail, niggaz jerk til they come
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| God gargantuan, large, colossus, bombardment of darts
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| Make your squad, throw tantrums
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| Practice karma sutra on broads, pop bra’s
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| Leave birds with permanent scars, and shit like birthmarks
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| Digi bark back at dogs, snatch flies from frogs
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| Blow California chronic to despise the smog
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| This shit I been with biz in the clearing, pigs sharing
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| Got fresh, Wu-Wearing, motherfuckers not caring
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| Then move through your community, with diplomat immunity
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| Move to rep a two or G., shine like fine jewelry
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| The Shadow Sword… Shadow Sword… |