| The following program has been brought to you by Rhymesayers Entertainment
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| The following program contains explicit lyrics
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| and we the producers stay defiantly behind the views expressed in the following
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| program.
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| All right, all you players and player haters, once again it’s time for the «Sep Sev"game show
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| Recorded live right here in lovely snowy Minnesota
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| this is the game where we make the average player a star.
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| Now, if you’ll join me, let’s give it up for the host of the «Sep Sev"game show
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| that’s right, here he is, Mr. Sep Sev…
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| YO, YO, YO, YO, YO, YO, fuck the money, everyone on the floor drop
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| I want all the food in the bag, and I ain’t tryin' to hear that soar talk
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| Stole the dinner and freaked it to the freeway
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| Flipped the screenplay, and made every love scene a three-way
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| Sound track recorded here in Minnesnowda
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| Tastes like ambrosia
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| Disinfects pen holders
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| Yo, let’s hold our breath and show your chest, if you’re proud of it
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| And wake me back to safety if you see me falling out of it
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| Under a full moon, the color? | 
| of mind is a mucous?
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| See your in the distance, the images riveting
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| Given the way the clouds moved, it fucked with the lighting
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| Grabbed me by the thoughts and pulled me tight like a kite string
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| All right, let’s hear it for contestant number one
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| What’s your name sir?
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| Yo, MC famous, the killer
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| Okay Mr. Anus Driller, you want to play the next round for a new Lexus with
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| matching socks?
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| Or air on the horny Miami based video
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| or do you just want to take the phony looking fifty dollar bills and run with
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| money?
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| Yo, I want the sex man, just give chicks man, just, just let me touch 'em man!
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| Now what If I spent, my whole day ?, on getting bent, and now I can’t afford my
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| rent
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| Do I grab a crowbar to your back door (Back door)
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| or hit up Super America for the cash drawer? | 
| (Fast forward)
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| I should be honest, cause even my outer conscience,
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| Knows the odds of blowing up are equal to people waking up from sleeping,
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| Keeping me from retrieving kingdoms and bed time stories,
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| Used to bore me with, positioned in the orbit of my imagination
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| Small portion, even that much, flustered by the drug fell in lust with the rush
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| Hush, maybe somewhere in it I became a cynic,
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| but your sexy grin gets less attractive by the minute
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| The planets in my head now rotate around the mind
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| The substance, the bug shit, all in my circumference
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| And I function
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| Like I don’t give a fuck if you grasp it
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| Resent the bitch that don’t and cast it under the masses;
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| I asked, «Is that right?"I answered, «Does it matter?»
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| I was glancing at how you fancy the passion, bastard
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| How fast you scale the ladder to jump
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| I’d rather just flunk than gather your junk
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| (Yo dog, you should blast that punk)
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| Alright, this next round our contestant is gonna have to slam
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| a whole bottle of expensive firewater, chase it with a forty of malt liquor
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| smoke a blunt, load a gun and sell records to 14 year olds all over the country
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| And the first one of you genocidal fashion fantasy fucks to go platinum wins
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| Wins what?!
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| Mr. Announcer, tell them what they’ll win!
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| Well, they’ll win respect, lot’s and lot’s of props!
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| Pissed on the Asti Spumonte, sippin' kamekazi
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| Shoulda called mommy when you saw me pull up in?
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| The rest of you’re life’s a flashback when I jump out that hatchback
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| Here’s your tape, give me my cash back
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| I’m on tracks, and that’s that, in fact that’s all you need
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| Either take some kind of lead, or fall to your knees and bleed
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| How’s your scene?
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| And how’s that rental running?
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| And how’s the weed selling?
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| And how’s the demo coming?
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| Me and my participants, be the reason why you and you crew bit your lips
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| Stick this in your mouth to cleanse it
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| The fuckin' prop is too expensive
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| Make’s me want to end it (Repent kid)
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| My advice is from here on out you purchase yellow boxers
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| That way when your bitch does your laundry, she won’t tell her moms about the
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| stains created
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| when I skated across that flat service you refer to as lyrical endowment
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| That content, that conscience, run down to that? |