| This for my niggas that don’t wait on shit!
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| Clark Kent, I hit the booth and throw the cape on quick
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| Y-3, fire kicks that’s a Fei Long hit
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| Of Napalm, fuck the pen that’s in they palm gripped
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| What we make up’s out the box, like a Avon kit
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| Wait on
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| As a kid, I felt Biggie rhymes
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| Met Diddy then, kept witty lines
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| So if I ain’t the one, I’m close to it like 12:59
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| So wait a minute and gimmie time
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| Yeah I see you in the city with a pretty dime
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| Face cute, ass fat, titties fine
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| But I know boys in the hood that gave shorty more back shots than Ricky’s spine
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| Crazy as Singleton, had 4 Brothers in her thighs
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| Mickey’s mind is Warhol’s and Porsche doors
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| Foreign broads on all fours, like dog paws
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| Hardcore, my cock sharper than long swords
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| Box em and fold up strong jaws like cardboard
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| Concords when I’m tired of the Y’s
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| Off the Buddha, my mind is getting high
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| What I spit in ya ear’ll startle you
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| I’m surprising with the lines
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| I don’t play though homie
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| I’m inspired by the wise!
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| Let’s see
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| Light-bulb on, the light goes on
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| Psycho
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| Write those bars, Nitro Charge
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| Pyro
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| Ignite both arms, ignite those bombs
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| If you write those wrong, then right those wrongs
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| And life goes on
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| I’m feeling like the game is too Wringling
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| The true kingpin of New England, I’m thru mingling
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| Whoever said I lack respect
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| Gonna feel the whiplash effect
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| After Mickey I’m snappin… necks
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| Check, half impressed with the cocky raps you cook-up
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| They study me, it’s prolly facts you look up
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| Rushing punches like Drago
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| Still on since the Apollo
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| Feel he hate?
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| What about the rocky stats you put up homie?
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| All-City Chess Alumni
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| They not talkin', they tongue-tied
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| My girl went from Boyz II Men
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| I don’t let her water run dry
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| Bad chick that goes both ways, it’s hard to come by
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| I’m the King Pen
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| The rap Wilson Fisk
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| Me, I’m Malcolm X preparing for my pilgrimage
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| Culture, only eat Kosher, no gefilte fish
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| Black man who want his black hand on the pyramid
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| Ima take a break for 15, let Chilla live
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| Fuck it Mick
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| I’m ready to die, tell em I did it Big
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| No pedophile, they feel a kid
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| And if Jerome bet his cash in hand, no way you gone steal a win
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| They all eager to battle, saying «I'm ready Chilla»
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| But you ain’t beatin' a deadly killer, with heavy filler.
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| Anyone who say ima lose and’ll bet me scrilla
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| In the end’ll pay sir, like Reggie Miller
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| This where it go left
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| The homie Los fresh
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| But set it up, your senior team will feel the most deaths
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| Jones with the crown, I’m so vicious
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| Unforgettable, Yeah!
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| I’m that King, cold with it
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| Sick flow, from the get go, when I go get it
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| See how they grade me?
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| Aye B, I’m on a roll with it
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| Someone gone have to get me
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| Who else can rap this sickly?
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| Give-n-Go, now it’s back to Mickey
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| Cops want our hands up in the air like George Clooney
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| But scared when a brother stand up, like Paul Mooney
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| Rather see em face to face, when they off duty
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| Can’t wait till a law get passed like Bob Cousy
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| Been nice since Genesis no Sega
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| The Alpha Omega
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| Ya salsa with no flavor
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| Where the hoes that ain’t pole strangers
|
| For a tip, I want a nightcap
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| I’ll be pissed if it’s no takers
|
| You’re in the top 3 that’s what they say
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| Grocery bag full of money, guess what my safe weigh
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| My bucket list, indecent I’m sorry
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| Culinary degree and me knee deep in Ferraris
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| A menage with divas lookin' like barbies
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| Ironically, I wanna see cheetahs on a safari
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| It’s that white and hispanic cat
|
| Finding peace is like finding out where Atlantis at
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| And I grew up with excuses, I never had a dad
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| I guess that’s why I’m reclusive, that’s how I channel that
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| I love my solitude
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| That’s how I gotta move
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| I don’t fuck with none of these lil' bitches, I’m childproof
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| They don’t got no code of honor, they got excuses
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| And loyalty is just another word that got tattooed
|
| I’m trusting less and I’m watching more, cause a lot of y’all
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| Tried to barge your fuckin' way in after I got the door
|
| I been in the big apple, it got a rotten core
|
| And I pay a couple of stacks for the fiends that’s noddin' off
|
| They don’t never seem to fall though
|
| These new rappers pump fake, they don’t never seem to ball though
|
| Yeah, I know you filing for section 8
|
| Cause you done blew your fuckin' advances sittin' in a section with 8
|
| Hoes, they give a fuck about ya
|
| You can’t impress these gold diggers, they just tryna get a buck up out ya
|
| Yeah, and I done been through it all
|
| If you need to humble yourself, then you should give me a call
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| It’s E! |