| Night falls in the aegis of real
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| I perfected, mic wrecking the radio fills
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| Upon examination it was later revealed
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| I was dedicated to kill like an agent from S.H.I.E.L.D
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| Competition is next to nil
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| Those left chose death or respect my skill
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| This is all the way live, not a test, a drill
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| Funky fresh in the flesh, it’s real
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| Twisted steel and sex appeal
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| I got the wheel
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| Armed and dangerous and dressed to kill
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| Now can a man make it pop when a trunk beat drop
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| I reply, «Oh yes I will"—I'm just that ill
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| Unh, six trillion dollar man
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| You can’t sit still, you just gotta dance
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| And after that you’ll be calling me the master
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| Better, bigger, stronger, and much faster
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| Six trill, call me the six trill
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| And when I rocking the house it’s a big deal
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| Yeah, you know you gotta dance
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| Yeah, I got a lot of fans
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| It’s the six-trillion-dollar man
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| The six-trillion-dollar man’s back on the scene
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| It’s super supreme lean mean killing machine
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| I pack a laser blaster that’ll get rid of your team
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| Too much action to fit on your screen
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| Devastator, word creator of rhymes when I kick ‘em
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| A terminator, filled by Cyberdine systems
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| Powerful perpetrators die when I hit ‘em
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| With every aim I’m claiming five to nine victims
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| And I’m sure I could take out nine more
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| Before they figure out exactly what they died for
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| This is no ordinary plan, this is my war
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| I am no ordinary man, I’m a cyborg
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| And I’mma ride for the science team set
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| Any, all challenges will be met
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| All violent violators will meet death
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| In the not-so-distant future where steel meets flesh
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| I am the six trill, call me the six trill
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| And when I cruise around the way I push a Big Wheel
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| Yeah, I got a lot a fans, sucka rappers you ain’t gotta chance
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| I guess the six-trillion-dollar man
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| Half-man, half-machine, my raps deploy
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| Dominate, decimate, and, at last, destroy
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| Without compassion I’m blastin', assassin joy
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| Rappers get dealt with and melted like plastic toys
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| I’m so rugged, a certified threat to the public
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| Personalized death and destruction
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| MCs get fried and electrified trying to touch it
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| Without a six-trillion-dollar budget
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| Bussa does it, seems probable but highly illogical
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| Both sight and sound, my audio and optical
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| Strength beyond belief, I achieve the impossible
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| I’m more bionic than Bionicle
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| And these are my chronicles, too clean up the wicked and filth
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| And serve justice on those that are guilty
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| Twenty-four scientists were forced to rebuild me
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| To take revenge on an industry that thought it had killed me |