| I flow fluidly, though I be the being of your bee’s wax
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| Ease back, fo' I squeeze gats
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| We don’t need that, do we, do we?
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| Rap style, groupie, a dog like Tim, that’s why you scared to step to me
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| Do we, have to result in fisticuffs?
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| See I get swifter myself, that’s when the Ruck erupts
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| So think not, of what I am, and what I do
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| Just recognize when im on the mic, I rule
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| How many corny MC gon' try?
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| Fifty mc, forty of dem done die
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| Run wit Heltah Skeltah, through the realms of the dark
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| If a nigga rift, then I’mma let the 4−4 bark
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| Everybody knows, where my notty head grows
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| I turn into a lethal weapon, and start steppin on toes
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| I, waste no time, when I move mine
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| Grab my Glock, and then I clear the stuff, like I was PO-9
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| Why you wanna fuck wit my Boot Camp?
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| Boot Camp, survivin the preview and
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| Fuck wit my Bucktown group
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| And in the night, the night, who roll the tight
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| Why you wanna fuck wit my Boot Camp?
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| Boot Camp, survivin the preview and
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| Comin through, representin Boot Camp Clik
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| In the night, who roll tight
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| Wack MC’s, have best to beware
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| That I fears no fears, and that’s word to my dry tear
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| I break ya whole fuckin crew in half
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| Feel the wrath, as the gun clappaz clap that ass
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| Wontime, for ya mind, hit that ass color blind
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| Signed on the dotted line, it’s how I live my lifetime
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| Reality hit me at some degrees
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| Now my eyes bleed (why?) Because I just smoked a bag of weed
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| Bringin forth Heltah Skeltah, be the big Rock, God help ya
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| I beat more ass, than Mom dukes leather belt
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| I gets open like doors when I be droopin
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| Trademark be bootin, baggin pants roopin
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| Hoopin and hollerin, nigga shut ya mug
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| Cuz I might have ya swallowin, a whole bunch of slugs
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| Cuz I’m bugged and my dome piece, roam in the streets
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| Wit my chrome, I’mma blast it, my caps magic, I get that ass quick
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| Nuff men a die, nuff men a come try
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| To test the worrior, I me no know why
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| A new breed of conquerors is on the rise
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| Step to my Boot Camp and catch black eyes
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| From the Heltah Skeltah, the Gunn da Clappaz
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| Smif-N-Wessun comin thru stompin out all you wack rappers
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| Wit the crazy dred, the mad boy head fed
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| Of corny shit that said, so now you bleed like your man bled
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| We gettin twisted as our Timb’s cover pavement
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| Flowin state to state, pickin up the next payment
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| Yo thoughts smell, violator to the left
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| Four slugs hit them chest, no more, no less
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| So think about it, abort your mission, it’s impossible
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| Or be a vegetable, and ya meant up in the hospital
|
| You silly wabbit, tricks are for kids, don’t you know that?
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| Fuck wit my Boot Camp, and get your wig pushed back
|
| Why you wanna fuck wit my Boot Camp?
|
| Boot Camp, survivin the preview and
|
| Comin through, representin Boot Camp Clik
|
| In the night, who roll tight
|
| I be that rude boy, bad boy, comin from the ville
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| Step to the Boot Camp, somebody get killed by me
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| The T-O-P, D-O-G, or my nigga Mr. S-T-R-A-N-G
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| Some of ya niggas be tryin to pull the trigga
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| But I figure, I could bust that ass just a little quicker
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| Time to catch Wreck, and back to the set
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| Where all them rules, them cock in check
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| All up in ya muthafuckin grill, I be Steele
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| Comin through wit my Wreckin Crew, so I reckon you keep it real
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| If not, I’m blowin spots, on whoever be showin Glocks
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| And what nots, walkin around fakin mad rocks
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| The only Rock I know is B.I.G., breakin' up N-I-double G-A'z wit' that nigga
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| R-U-C-K
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| Better be ready to be jetty if you petty
|
| Cuz if it wasn’t already said, we dangerous and deadly
|
| You better recognize or recollect, I reck a set wit a
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| Tek, and we ain’t askin, we blastin
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| Now from this you might think the Steele is trife
|
| I earn my stripes, cuz I deal wit the real in life
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| And I reveal my knife, to cut you loose
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| I’m not ruthless, but you get the boots if you useless
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| Cuz, time upon time, I find
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| If you remain blind, you get left behind
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| But we, see very clearly, so step up to the front
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| Cuz this is where we, represent on the lovely
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| For you and get praise due to the father above me
|
| Cuz we ain’t here to attack, or, when we take the backs off
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| The wack rappers that jack off
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| That’s all that’s it, strictly the bumpin shit
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| Niggas don’t even know what they fuckin wit |