| Man, I can’t believe that dude came up to me talkin'
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| He had the audacity to think that was like, cool or somethin'
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| Just all up in my ear, talkin' all that game
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| Yap yap yap yap yap
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| When the path of some discussions change up like percussion
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| The tempo of some conversations leave me out in limbo
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| Here’s something
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| You might have been through
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| Or maybe, you haven’t been through
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| It’s simple
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| To be the devil’s advocate with your opinions
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| True stories
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| They never bore me
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| The true, they don’t ignore me
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| It’s amazing when they think they know you so well
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| To tell the tales
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| Foot in their mouths
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| Packed with negativity
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| Talkin' about my family, thinkin' that it’s just you and me
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| No, I’m not Corey
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| And no Corey ain’t Tom
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| And no your smoke ain’t the bomb
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| Ain’t tryin' to put you on in the mix of things
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| Tricks they got, keen eyesight
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| They focus upon those in magazine’s that hold mics
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| Alright, up in the bull’s eye, dodgin' all the bullshit
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| Holdin' onto sanity, stay away from full clips
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| These two tricks approached me one day after one show
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| And said, «Yo, I like your flow. |
| But man, you really should go solo.»
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| I took a pause
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| Let the lighter ignite my beadie
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| Then I turned around and slapped them little fools with my CD
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| On me, don’t ever walk up and disrespect my brothers
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| Unless, you want some trouble from a rather peaceful brother
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| A wrong turn, made in an effort to rub elbows
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| First impressions stick like bitch covered in Elmer’s (glue)
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| «Ahh, it sticks»
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| It’s the outlandish things they wanna say to me
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| Who do you claim to be? |
| You’re just ashamed of me
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| You want to hit us with your gossip but you’re really out of pocket
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| Take your mouth and lock it
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| Zip it
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| Stop it
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| The outlandish things they wanna say to me
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| Who do you claim to be? |
| You’re like the same to we
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| Too many slick at the lip when they can’t skip it towards me
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| With the ideas they had
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| Most of them just bore me
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| Now I do take criticisms like shits and flush 'em
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| Undeservin' egos
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| Me? |
| I crush 'em
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| Hush 'em in the cock pit for snubbin' up my folks
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| Crackin' jokes
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| Laughin' at the stories we collected like some soaps
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| I’m the fuck off the ropes cause I never listen hard
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| When Four Track tapes might has well have been barred
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| You gained a foot I gained a yard
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| You’re in the door, I built a second floor
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| When you hand me a flier to my own show I’m steppin' more
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| Faster
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| Protectin' mine like masters
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| I didn’t ask for your opinion
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| Why would I? |
| You’re beginnin'
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| Or else you’re on your way out
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| Seein' the light as it fades out
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| Yours is over here
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| Fork it over dear
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| That’s my money
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| When you start actin' funny then I know it is
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| And when they say I sound like someone else they must be blowin'
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| His dick (slurp slurp)
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| And he knows you’re a jerk because he told me
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| And when we do a song, then you’re gonna have to like me
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| And if you only like me, then you’re gonna have to like him
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| That’s the way we’re writin'
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| Signin' off, A Titan
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| It’s the outlandish things they wanna say to me
|
| Who do you claim to be? |
| You’re just ashamed of me
|
| You want to hit us with your gossip but you’re really out of pocket
|
| Take your mouth and lock it
|
| Zip it
|
| Stop it
|
| The outlandish things they wanna say to me
|
| Who do you claim to be? |
| You’re just ashamed of me
|
| You want to hit us with your gossip but you’re really out of pocket
|
| Take your mouth and lock it
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| Zip it
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| Bitch said, «The Grouch? |
| Uuuuah!
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| Doesn’t he still live with his mom and make beats in the basement? |
| Duuh?
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| Aren’t Tom and Corey a little too old to be rapping?
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| I mean it’s all good and everything because you see, you’re young
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| But I used to go to parties back at um, 4001
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| Don’t you think about the future? |
| I mean it used to be cool
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| But what about going jobs and goin' to school?»
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| «Bitch, look at your life! |
| Ain’t you shootin' porn?»
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| Ain’t nothin' worse than a fuckin' groupie scorn
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| Speakin' on my crew, like that’s not my family
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| You should really watch for who, you choose to speak candidly
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| Cause I’m a tattle tale
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| Bout to e-mail the crew with them words you just said
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| Should have gave me (skull) instead of talkin' head
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| Now you got me walkin' Fed Express towards the exit |
| Just like I had a motor
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| But first I crossed paths with this dick head promoter
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| «Aye aye, you need to do my club.»
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| Knows I rock for free cause I do it for the love
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| I said, «Please don’t curse
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| L-O-V-E, shit that’s a four letter word
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| So I’mma let you know just in case you haven’t heard
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| I don’t MC for free
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| And that’s period
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| So if it ain’t doe, then I’m really not hearin' it.»
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| «Oh you gotta be jokin'.»
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| «Hell, naw I’m serious
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| Respect my authori-tie
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| And quit ignorin' my receipt for dues paid
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| I mean, who’s brigade was you really tryin' to ask?
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| I mean, that shit is in the past
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| Rockin' shows for petty cash
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| I already mashed on your homie
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| For comin' at me the wrong way.»
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| It’s about to be a long day
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| I exit the wrong way in an attempt to escape
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| The fools out front beggin' for the free tape
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| Cause my name’s on the bill
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| They think I’m full blown
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| But I also got my name on some bills at home
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| And I can’t pay for shit with a dope freestyle
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| Beadie breath and a smile is all you gettin' from me
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| So when you disappointed by that wack show that you see
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| Just think to yourself, «FUCK! |
| I should’ve just bought a Good Music CD.» |