| When I request my flashing sword…
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| And my hand take hold on judgment…
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| I will take vengeance upon my enemies…
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| And I will repay those that hazed me…
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| When you got bass all in your face
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| Sub woofers pumpin' all throughout the place
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| A fake rap nigga tryna plead his case
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| It’s about to be, a catastrophe
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| And if you got beehive’s, right before your eyes
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| About to start shit that’ll attract the flies
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| And then you hear lies, followed by some cries
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| It’s about to be, a catastrophe
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| Half of these rap lyrics ain’t thoughts prevoked
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| Just alotta beef, til they get caught in smoke
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| But the problem is never cured, on top of that
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| Most of them be swingin' wild and then drop the bat
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| Many curious spectators, watch the human drama
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| This rap cat was all in the street without his armor
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| A homicidal attempt, that had failed
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| He flew off the roof, on the fence, got impaled
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| He talked a good one, but it was make believe
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| Much too low, for the human ear to perceive
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| He confused science fiction with science facts
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| He couldn’t separate the block, from the recorded tracks
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| Need a rhyme or the tactic, gotta work your magic
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| Detailed and graphic, but the outcome is tragic
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| Something built to a complex network
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| With a panoramic vision, designed by experts
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| I be the ice breaker, for you unskilled skaters
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| I increase the heat significantly, just on paper
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| When you got bass all in your face
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| Sub woofers pumpin' all throughout the place
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| A fake rap nigga tryna plead his case
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| It’s about to be, a catastrophe
|
| And if you got beehive’s, right before your eyes
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| About to start shit that’ll attract the flies
|
| And then you hear lies, followed by some cries
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| It’s about to be, a catastrophe
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| No matter what, I’m throwin' an iller dart
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| I can lay a verse, that’ll soften a killer’s heart
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| As fire as a five alarm blaze, that’s too hot to be holding
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| You feel the heat, once the flame pumps lace your clothing
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| What some talk about, had little or no bearing
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| Could the next be some real shit, that’s far from comparing
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| Materialistic M.C.'s, come off boring
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| Meanwhile, I be sketching up, deposit drawings
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| Through the years, a countless, number of victories
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| Changing the era, we swarm unpredictably
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| A rhyme book is not, difficult to manage
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| I leave a mic in a bandage, from catastrophic damage
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| Rap niggas on a trip, gotta steal your sandwich
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| So I creeped, division reports was left on canvas
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| I made it through the worst extremes of cold weather
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| Scuffed up, but remained durable as old leather
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| But I hold the pen, you feel the whiff of Polo wind
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| Something like Jesus, when he civilize older men
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| The math that shed light, all across the borders
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| If our wisdom was the vast expands of fresh waters
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| When you got bass all in your face
|
| Sub woofers pumpin' all throughout the place
|
| A fake rap nigga tryna plead his case
|
| It’s about to be, a catastrophe
|
| And if you got beehive’s, right before your eyes
|
| About to start shit that’ll attract the flies
|
| And then you hear lies, followed by some cries
|
| It’s about to be, a catastrophe
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| We call it a sword style, because, we are lyrical assassins
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| And we aware that the tongue is symbolic to the sword
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| The lyrical assassins… the lyrical assassins… a sword style…
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| (The procedure is, check with the knight
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| Move the knight away to deliver a discovered check from the queen
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| Then, sacrifice the queen to force the rook next to the king
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| Then mate with the knight) |