| One-two, one-two
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| What the fuck you wanna do?
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| All haters get cut in they face with razors
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| It’s just a friendly game of baseball
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| And I’m striking out all playas
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| Sharpen my sword, sharpen my pen
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| Sharpen my blade, again and again
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| Niggas living in the projects with sharp objects
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| I take my respect, so Protect Ya fucking Neck
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| I’m too live, with ya baby mama getting head across the Harlem River Drive
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| Never take a dive when it’s time to survive
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| Niggas slap me five cuz I’m no jive
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| All my Killa Beez living out of beehives
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| I’m automatic like a .45, taking lives
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| Yeah, we living in a culture with vulture
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| Carrying toasters in the holsters, pulling out on posers
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| I guess they suppose to, I started out rhyming in the parks like Rosa
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| Aiyo, fuck these rap niggas, I spit bars at these rap niggas
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| For the new millennium, 9th Prince flow sicker
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| I do this for rhyme spitters, and heavy hitters
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| The Industry Grave Digga
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| Aiyo, smooth criminal, my message never subliminal
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| Always direct and effect, while niggas claiming they emperial
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| Serial killa, turn niggas into zombies like Michael Jackson Thriller
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| I’m on my grind, you move too slow, like turtles and caterpillas
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| I’m moving through your hood like a ninja
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| Yeah, the grand finale, build with the Gods at the rally
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| Where’s all my West Coast Killa Beez?
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| I’m going back to Cali, lick off shots at Bill O’Reilly
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| Fly like Nike Airs, whenever I go to war I come prepared
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| Deaf in my left year, but still sincere
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| About my career, live without fears
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| And giving niggas cold stares, Nature Boy like Ric Flair
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| Born to gamble, natural born gambler
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| Knock off competitors, wrestle with alligators
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| And choke lions, like a wrestler |