| Yo Jef, why don’t you give me a hoopa beat or something
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| Something I can go to the park to
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| Yeah, there you go, alright
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| I like that, I like that
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| It sound dope
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| Bust 'em in the eye, Shaq!
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| You wanna fight? |
| Come fight me!
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| I’ll hit ya with the «Wa-psh-psh-psh-psh-psh!» |
| See, see?
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| I get dirty after dark
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| I’ll treat you like Spielberg, you’ll get your ass kicked in in a park (Ooh!)
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| You don’t believe me? |
| The proof is in the puddin'
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| Been a boy in the hood way before Cuba Gooding
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| I flip scripts with the mad pa-style, freeze
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| (Shhh) Music, please!
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| I dribble rhymes like Basketball-em's
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| People call me E.T. |
| (What's that, Shaq man?), Extra-Tallem's
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| You better than Shaq-tack, fool, shut up, liar!
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| I lean on the Statue of Liberty when I get tired
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| Than I’ll punch you in the stomach, I don’t give a heck
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| (Hey yo, why you booger hook like that?) Yo, she breath on my neck!
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| People walk around like, yo, they got charged!
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| But I’m big like Gorilla, 6'7 ain’t large!
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| I kick rhymes like Moo Duk Kwan Do
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| I smoke-smoke the mic-mic like Cheech and Chong do
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| You don’t like Shaq? |
| Frankly, I don’t give a damn
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| I know I got skills man, I know I got skills man
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| Surprise, look who’s back, not a prize from a Cracker Jack
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| Look at that, it’s Def Jef with the Shaq Attack
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| Flexin', I’ll be crackin your back with the boom-boom bap
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| Pass that mic over here, you ain’t gon' want it back
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| Everybody say I got fat, yep, but so did my wallet
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| Still ripping rhymes and dropping bombs like Khalid Muhammad
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| Do yourself a solid, don’t flex, you go sex
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| You know the time, get the high-hat, the Rolex
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| The way I see, if I was wack like you, I’d be at me
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| The way I hold it down, you’d swear my name was Gravity
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| Def Jef with the funk, Def Jef don’t front, you know how the name is spelt
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| I’m making it vital, and jackin' the title, fool, break yourself
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| Attack the track like Shaq on a whack broad
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| Coming up with the hits, and I’m coming down with the backboard
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| Don’t fake the funk, just make the sound’s up from the trunk
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| The reason your tape ain’t hit the deck is because your hits don’t bump
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| So get back, ain’t no hassle, cause you ain’t holding nothin'
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| Keep sticking around, you get beat down like you stole something
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| Sleep on me and the Shaq and jump your own hand
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| Cause I know I got skills man, I know I got skills man
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| Ah yeah, yeah, y’all don’t know nothing about this
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| The Shaq Man and The Arsenal
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| What’s up like that?
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| Double XL in the nine-ohs kid
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| Skills to make mills
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| Big up, Flava Unit, Funky Town pros, upstate, yeah ??? |
| ya large
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| So check this out Shaq man, we gon' let this beat play right here, let all
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| The brothers and sister know…
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| Nah, nah, let me continue
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| I’m a be like Pete Rock and see what’s next on the menu
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| Mic-checka, the rim and rhyme wrecka, rocks from here to Mecca
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| (Boom!) Boom shack-a-lack-a-lack-a
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| I got a hand that’ll rock ya cradle
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| Cream you like cheese, spread you on my bagel
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| My Ford Explorer boomin' with the trunk of funk
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| All you jealous punks can’t stop my dunks
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| The brand new like Heavy, built like Chevy, Impala
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| But Shaq’s a smooth balla
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| (Yeah, but what about rhymin'?) I can hold my own
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| Knick-knack, Shaq-attack, give a dog a bone
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| Rhymin is like hoopin', I’m already a legend
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| Back in the days in the food stamp section
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| Used to kick rhymes like, «Baby, baby, baby!»
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| «Every once, every twice, three times a lady»
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| Is what I listened to, ridin' with my moms
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| How you like me now? |
| I drop bombs!
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| When you see me, please tap my hands
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| I know I got skills man, I know I got skills man
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| I’d like to give a shout-out to my boy Uzi, Def Jef, Little Swany, Meech
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| Ron Mac, and my other cousin Ron
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| This is another rough shot from the arsenal
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| And you know what? |
| Booty rappers, stay booty
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| Ha-ha-ha, and we out
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| Ahhh ha ha ha ha
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| Ahhhhh ha ha ha ha
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| Ahhhh… sike! |