| Just Blaze, hey, hands up Swizzy, hey, hands up 1, 2, 3, here we go!
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| Microphone check one two what is this?
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| The Yardfather coming to give niggas the business
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| It’s so beyond rap, cock sucker we live this
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| So uhm, come on baby, come on, come on and witness
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| The next ten years of this shit, the slickness is deliberate
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| Lyrically it’s as sick as it get
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| I been in the pen, been in the jects, been in the ??
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| I been in the Benz, been in the Lex, been in the MSX
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| Yes, I run ringers around the fraudulant type
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| Come here and I’ll show you that I spit on just more then a mic
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| I make it hard for niggas to breathe, please
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| These wicked emcees squeeze
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| Hammers like the Pampers used to squeeze, hit the DT
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| I Mike Tyson ya eye, put a permenant ring around it Then go run in the booth and sing about it Look, if I don’t hurt the nigga that play with my wealth
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| I’m like me on Entourage god, I’m playing myself, let’s go Hold up, the pump will make you jump up Put ya body in the tr-unk
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| (Don't you baby, don’t you baby, don’t ya baby)
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| Keep goin now…
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| New York, and all the way to Cali
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| And the South’ll make ya j-ump
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| (Come on baby, come on baby, come on baby)
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| Don’t touch the boy, yup
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| Hold up, the pump will make ya jump up Put ya body in the tr-unk
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| (Come on baby, come on baby, come on baby)
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| I’ll whip ya ass from…
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| New York, and all the way to Cali
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| And the South’ll make ya jump
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| 1, 2, 3, we gone!
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| Four finger, three finger, two finger, one finger
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| Hum dinger, gun slinger, that’s what I am Trying to get some cash in my hand as fast as I can
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| So you should, come on baby, come on, come on and fuck wit ya man
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| I got this rap shit down to a science
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| Alotta niggas shit is aight but they ain’t fucking with Ryan
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| First there was some defiance, until I formed an alliance
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| With Justin, he plugged me in, now I’m as hot as a fucking iron
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| You lying, all the gunplay talk
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| Knowing behind closed doors you be practicing on ya runway walk
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| I been in the kill, been in the cap, been in the box and back
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| I been in the ville, tripping the gat, trimming a boxing match
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| And I still walk around this fucker with not a scratch
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| And thats way more then I can say for alot of cats
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| My name’s Saigon nigga
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| Break bread mufucka 'fore I break ya fucking head lil sucka
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| Finally I’ve arrived, so we can say our goodbyes
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| To the ring tone rapper, that crap’ll never survive
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| Its the lyrics in hip-hop, they even the odds
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| We gotta, come on baby, come on, come on and keep it alive
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| I got a microphone jones, I’m in love with it If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t even fuck with it I been in the rocks, been in the grams
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| Been in the pots and pans, I been in demand
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| Been in the sense I dropped contraband, damn
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| Simon says, «Saigon slap the shit outta suckas»
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| «Slam his head on the cement and stomp it until he’s ??»
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| My son says your son scared of societies shit list
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| Sick as the second stage of siphylis and swift as the Savior’s scripture
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| I say after it’s all said and done
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| I’mma be way ahead of them, never see a better one
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| So look niglet, fall back a tid bit
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| Or get ya fucking wig split, this some big shit |