| Now sit back in your seat and kick up your Nike’s
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| And listen to Freddie Foxxx cold rip the mic
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| The microphone’s burnin' like a flamin' torch
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| And my lyrics are hot so they can burn and scorch
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| So here’s a little somethin' for you hip-hop wimps
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| Try to come down hard on the hip-hop prince
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| Get your rhymes all together, your microphones ready
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| 'Cause you’re about to meet the hip-hop terror, Freddie
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| For all you other rappers with self-proclaimed titles
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| Shut up and face the true supreme idol
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| Rappers, I’m here so come get it
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| But those that tried are real sorry they did it
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| 'Cause I hit it hard, nail on the head, now they’re dead
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| But that’s what you get when you’re messin' with Fred
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| Ain’t no jokin' or playin' around, just listen to the sound
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| While I get down, this is serious
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| So serious when I take the stage
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| Kinda like lettin' a pitbull out of a cage
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| For blood or raw meet, huh, sound sweet
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| But I take the mic and a milky beat
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| And drop one rhyme that’s self-defined
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| And then you lay back and relax while I climb into your mind
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| Every openin' hole
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| Walk through your body and take over your soul
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| This jam is deep when I speak, you turn chicken
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| Scared to death because my bassline’s kickin'
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| Jump off and grab the mic, I dare you
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| Then I’ma open you up and then wear ya
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| Drag you all over like Raggedy Ann
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| Rough up the wannabe’s, make you a man
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| Then when you jump up to talk crap
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| You’ll get slapped with a rap that makes your neck snap back
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| Down for the count, my hand is raised
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| My rhyme is praised and you feel dazed
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| I’m gonna take you deeper down to the bottom
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| When my voice hits the mic, it’ll sound like I shot him
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| I’m like Riker’s buckwild in dozens
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| And you’ll be lookin' around like, who was it?
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| Hit from all sides, all you feel is pain
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| And you don’t even know your own name
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| Try to get up for the next round and pout it
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| You think you survive? |
| I doubt it
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| Bring the stretcher, jumpstart the brain and heart
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| Of a rapper that’s been torn apart this is serious
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| This is serious
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| Now I’ma tell you somethin' you should never forget
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| Fred could stand in hell and won’t sweat
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| Don’t believe it? |
| This is hell
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| Bring the rapper then ring the bell
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| Then once we start rappin', it’s a hell of a round
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| It takes you, your crew and the cops to bring me down
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| The rapper of rap, rhymes my occupation
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| Here we go, pump up your radio station
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| The Kut Terrorist scratchin' like a maniac
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| Fred’s kickin' rhymes like a natural born brainiac
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| It’s like your standin' in water and touched a live wire
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| Boom, you’re on fire
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| And I keep rollin', rhymes keep projectin'
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| Hittin' like a punch to the jawbone connectin'
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| You see me with the mic in my hand and you’re jelled up
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| Schemin' with your posse but y’all got held up
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| Serious business the only way to go
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| I’m all about makin' beats, rhymes and dough
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| And once in a while I’m a stick man
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| But girls ain’t a problem to Foxxx, 'cause I’m in, man
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| I got rappers on the mic delirious
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| You know why? |
| 'Cause this is serious
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| This one is a special dedication for all the posse out there
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| This one goes out to Eric B. and Rakim
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| This one goes out to my man Ant Live
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| This one goes out to Premo
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| Sha, Let’s Jet and the Louisville Slugger
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| This one goes out to my DJ the Kut Terrorist
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| This one goes out to Laser Mike
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| This one goes out to Pat
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| I take this one deep for my physical Taheim Shabazz
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| This one goes out to the Almighty Supreme Easy E
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| This one also goes out to the Master Kevvon
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| I’ma take this mile-deep for Brooklyn
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| And I’ma slam one out left field for Queens
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| And knock a home run for Strong Island
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| This one also goes out to the Southside Posse
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| This one goes to the Paid In Full Posse
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| And I’ma take this one down for my man Barney Barn
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| And I’m also gonna say peace to all the gods
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| And I’m also gonna say, out
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| Serious |