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Eminem: Welcome to Detroit |
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This is the BET, Shady 2.0, Cypher, 2011 |
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Myself, Slaughterhouse, and Yelawolf |
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White dog, (Thank you cracker) get'em! |
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Yelawolf:Put these muthafuckas in a box and I send 'em away |
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Put em in a gray 'llac and pop the trunk |
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And throw em in the back, jack; ha, dig 'em a grave |
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Put a brick inside that Xerox when I print up a page |
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Moving keys I can relate, cause I live in the cage |
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I throw up the A, I take 'em to school, I give em a grade |
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An Easy-E for effort, that's WWA |
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White with an attitude, alphabet soup is on my plate |
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All I got is Z's they sleeping on me, I can't get 'em awake |
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I spoon feed 'em a sound, in a room full of deceivers and clowns |
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Who believe in making it rain cause all they see is the clouds |
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And I watch from the couch of the VIP like a potato |
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with a bunch of meatheads like fuck it |
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I'll just feed 'em a cow |
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Plenty of white boys to pick from this year |
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But before you can pick a pepper, you better pick up your heater |
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Cause even Peter Piper could pick up a mic |
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But what it's like to pick a fight with me |
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It’s like putting Nikes on a cheetah, better speed up |
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Or at least in my case Addidas |
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I'm out this bitch, drinking Sprite by the two-liter |
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Holler, Shady records |
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Joe Budden: Now I need to stress to get me in,right? |
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Em: Hey yo,Wait wait wait! OK dawg. Yeah yeah. |
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Joe: I'm about to get them. I'm about to get them right. |
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Joe Budden: Yo, say I'm from the new school |
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I'mma say check your tone and watch you mouth |
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If they teaching how to Dougie, I'm condoning dropping out |
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Forced to wild, y'all birthed then gave me up |
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I just perfected being hip-hop's foster child |
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Now check it: don't blame y'all for being trash fans are copping it |
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The radio's the crime scene, the masses are the hostages |
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In my youth I'd throw shots, the fad was dodging it |
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I'm grown: I ain't watching the throne, I'm sabotaging it |
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You see that 4-headed monster in the storm looms |
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Snipe 'em from a distance: the scope got a long zoom |
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You Super Mario thugs is in the wrong room |
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Gotta figure here, you won't get bigger if you on shrooms |
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If it was left to me, I'd revive what the game be 'bout |
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I'd took the Wine outta Amy house |
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Enough raps from you scrub cats bout cockin' a snub back |
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Wayne couldn't teach me how to love that |
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But I got this chick from uptown, she my summer bunny |
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Both parents broke, but she come from money |
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Think my bread is her paper to burn |
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So I lock her out, and now she doubt David is Stern |
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She's so bad, I make her hit the telly from a taxi |
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Then dead her in the Holiday Inn, learned that from Max B |
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That's why the haters envy kinda wanna send me Llamas |
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I made it right before their eyes like I was Benihanas |
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Is it me? Or is what I'm hearing just pitiful? |
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Airwaves the same, now the stereo's typical |
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My skin's thick so the critics ignored |
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So unafraid to die, you'd think I did it before |
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The boy's Rodman with the trash talk, Magic or Walt with the black ball |
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Way I bounce off the asphalt with cat paws |
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Glass jaw, hood of your mask would be the Blackfoot with no passport |
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Body be found in a mansion in one of my trapdoors |
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If punks had award you status whores categore |
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Probably be that of awards were Michael Rappaport and Kenny Lattimore |
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I know hip hop's alive and well |
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If it died, you other crews wouldn't survive the smell |
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( Ladies & Gentlemen, you're scared now?) |
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Em:Make that face at 'em dawg |
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(Crooked I. Get 'em! )Crooed I. |
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Crooked I: I spot a victim, the plot'll thicken when the clock is ticking |
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I caught him slipping, I gotta give him a shot, |
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I hit him with proper spitting, hottest writtens and compositions |
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So competition's a contradiction, somebody mentioned they got a Crooked |
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Highly fiction we probably different, got Gotti henchmen |
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Opposition, I'll body quick as Bugatti engines |
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I'm on a mission to get richer, the sickest lyric-kicker digging a ditch for different spitters |
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Weak lyricists get disfigured |
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Sip liquor, spit like a sick mixture of Notorious, Pun and L, get the big picture? |
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The poster, I'll roast ya |
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My mind so deadly it's just like the beanie is close to a holster |
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It's over, control my whole coastal region like I'm supposed to |
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Flow is going postal even. Flow |
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Open season, heart close to freezing |
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Ruthless as Eazy nigga approach, I'm squeezing, believe me |
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Dopest Westcoaster breathing |
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So most ya hope I'm vegan, nope I'm beefing |
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Rappers need to keep it trill, give me a beat to kill |
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Too many people still eating sleeping pills, people sleeping on my ether skills |
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Ay, y'all ain't even real, you 'bout to die in this cypher |
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Before you die, you should do the Jada and leave a Will, for real |
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Joell Ortiz:Yaowal,yaowal |
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I ain't a rap dude, I'm a dude who rap |
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Before this I was moving crack |
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Killers y'all become when y'all rhyme, I salute and dap |
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And if I blink they'll remove your snaps |
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You ain't cool, you wack with your foolish act |
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Skinny jeans don't mean your ass shoot, it means your booty claps |
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Don't play like Tyler Perry |
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This the Slaughterhouse of Pain, flow brown, tight and heavy |
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When it come to 16's, I'm a fiend |
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Seen in the studio near a needle with a mean lean |
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Probably writing bars to Nas' Thief's Theme getting my Yaowa on |
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Man, all these Olajuwons, we the dream team |
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This is an all day slaughter |
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They fiending for us to break like Beyonce's water |
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The four quarters doing all the eating |
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And ya'll gotta know why I made the cut, I'm Puerto Rican |
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Ortiz keep the fire ready |
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And tryna put me out’s like tryna steal a transvestite from Eddie |
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Royce Da 5'9': Yeah! |
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I'm do or die dope and you can make the sticker sittin' on the door of that Phantom, your suicide note |
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Hi Rihanna.. is Nicki living with you? |
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Let me know so I can buy binoculars and telescopes |
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Hi Rihanna.. I don't need to know you better |
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You tell me you love my music again? We go together |
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Bye Rihanna.. now back to y'all fools |
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We rock out like the outside of a guitar school |
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Thousand dollar frames, I prefer to see the world through |
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Don't ask me nothing 'bout Budden, I beat my girl too |
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You ask me why I keep her, I say it's cheaper to |
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That's why I ride around in a Rolls like Wiz Khalifa do |
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Rappers I'm your daddy, I tell you straight as this |
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You don't kill but your father Will like Jaden Smith |
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I tell you like I tell my Spanish chick |
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You fly, but I ain't going down on no landing strip |
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So get your wax on like Daniel San |
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Or I'mma have to run like De La Hoya in drag when cameras come |
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Point out the greatest rapper alive I head shot 'em |
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Smack his girl on the butt and buy her some red bottom |
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Bring every deceased rapper back to see his wife |
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While I'm cyber-sexing with Jessica Alba via Skype |
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I'm on my d-boy, Deebo thing |
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Spiritual steelo swing like Cee-Lo Green |
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Get out the camera with yo B Roll bling, you know your flow is wack |
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We cornered the market like a Wal-Mart in a cul-de-sac |
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Yeah, this is what two million singles sold and an album that's gold |
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Look like without having to sell your soul, Nickel |
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(Go ahead) |
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Eminem: Wait, can I rap? |
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(You are the Boss, you'd better get them..) |
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Eminem: Ayo, Lyrical miracle, spiritual individual, criminal |
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Subliminal in your swimming pool |
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(Yo yo yo. Come on man, kick it raw.. kick that shit approach) |
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(Drop it, your microphone) |
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Eminem: You're about to see peace destroyed |
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It'll never be restored |
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When I unleash these beastly hordes on your CD stores |
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Wanna stop it: you gon' need a priest, at least three swords |
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A license to ill from the Beastie Boys, three Ouija boards |
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A squeegee and please be warned, don't ask for what the squeegee's for |
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Or the holy water, acid raps that'll eat these floors |
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Eat a hole in a rhyme book, you see these horns? |
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And as for me, you ask when I'm gone "will he be mourned?" |
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Is puke luke warm? Should Casey Anthony do porn? |
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Can that chick fit a new born dead baby inside her fricking shoebox |
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With a shoehorn, smothered in chloroform so she can go get her groove on? |
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Can she duct tape and Velcro a fetus? Joell yo, |
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Tell Joe I need his empty box from his old shell toed Adidas |
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So I can put these babies in the fetal position, they're getting elbows to the penis |
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Yeah big deal. I took some little kids Big Wheel |
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And spit in his frickin big kids meal |
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Quit tryna bite me and pinch you wench sit still |
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Did you just put your six inch heel through my Benz windshield? |
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Is it dust we bout to kick up? |
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Can Yelawolf fit a fifth of rum in a big cup? Between his stick shift in his frigging pickup Yelawolf |
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And drink like a hick redneck hillbilly will till he gets hicc-ups? |
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Flipping the script up like Mike Vick |
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Get bit in his junk by a pit, yup I'm a sick pup |
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I'd be a horrible magician |
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Cause I'd fuck that trick up |
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Fix your lips up to say something fly, or zip up |
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A B, Let's C, you said you were gonna do X-Y-Z |
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Till you fuck around and get dropped like an E |
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When you add an I-N-G |
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Don't put a K in front of that though, when I MC |
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Cause I'm not the king of this microphone booth |
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It's more like a phone booth |
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Superman in this bitch, kryptonite won't do |
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It gives me more power, I bump the Fat Boys and |
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Eat rat poison, take meteor showers |
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Fresh outta the mental hospital |
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And me not flossing a middle finger while I hop in a mosh pit |
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will be like Nas doing gospel or R&B, you crazy? |
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Me pushing up daisies, that thought is impossible |
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As it flashing across the news, Posdnuos was caught with a prostitute. Posdnuos |
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With a huge Johnson, boobs and a monstrous tube of lube |
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And a bra, some boots, some panties and a aqua blue Mazda |
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Swallowing a popsicle, playing tonsil pool |
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So kill the rumors it ain't happening |
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I'ma rap 'till I'm fossil fuel |
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