| Mix a pound of underground, a cup of Buck
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| A fifth of some 9th Wonder for the DJ to cut
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| As he spin it when it comes to the formula
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| Son I’m warning ya
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| They saw me cause I (?) hot shit
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| My 9 spit
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| Glory, what
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| All that fame shit ain’t shit
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| Same shit as the last niggas who spit past hits, bastard
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| Who ain’t have a father figure
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| So you was raised like a bitch on some «don't bother a nigga»
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| Me, I’m the Neo for my people on this Matrix shit
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| Music got my people like «nah, I can’t take this shit»
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| Never the mess, call me the stress reliever
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| I’m glad to be a nigga in my position, you tryin' to see us
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| Cause now, you like «wow
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| Can I be down with Duckdown & Bucktown, I’m kinda stuck now, help me out»
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| Nope, it’s too late for you, make sure you
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| Keep makin' them records 'till the day you spoil
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| Me, I’m straight, I’m here on the map
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| My little brother is strapped
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| My big dogs got my back
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| And listen up, (?)
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| On the ultimate, this is Buck-shot
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| When I come with the shit
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| I’m underground
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| This is for you, this is for you, you, and you and you right there
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| Listen up now
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| See we back on the map
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| Buckshot, Little Brother is strapped
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| New York, to North Ca', all across the map
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| Recognize that the boss is back
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| Fuck that, whoa, yeah, uh
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| Boot Camp, BCC, Justus League, another one!
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| You know how we do it
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| Yeah, this album right here is for all you MC’s and you producers out there
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| Learn your lesson |