| You herbs we merged, we’re an alliance
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| We fight fire with flame-throwers, why would you try us?
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| We a outfit, equivalent to Voltron’s
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| That boy Crooked I’s equivalent to four arms
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| Joell Ortiz is the body
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| The cannibal slash killer, kill you then eat your body
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| Joe Budden is the pair of legs
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| He runs shit alongside I, the apparent head
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| I am the general, bow now
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| Fuck salutin, I don’t really think y’all niggas get it
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| Run up on you with an army it is
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| On 'til it’s done, finished
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| You got a problem with any one of my Slaughters
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| Then y’all niggas can come wit it
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| Me and Joey we a perfect fit
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| He likes startin shit, I like endin shit
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| I don’t squash the beef, I don’t bend a bit, it ain’t intricate
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| I’m gon' shoot yo' stupid ass
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| You too could laugh, you gon' die smilin
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| Try whylin I get hostile then I’m violent
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| I don’t make threats nigga I promise
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| My style is Stalin mixed with sick lyrics
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| If you hear it it’ll lift your spirit
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| Turn your appearance to a disappearance, d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d (ding)
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| I fuck with, nothin but gangstas
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| Nothin but hustler niggas, sound off, sound off (HUT!)
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| I fuck with, nothin but my clique
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| Nothin but hot shit follow me, sound off, sound off (HUT!)
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| I fuck with, nothin but gangstas
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| Nothin but hustler niggas, sound off, sound off (HUT!)
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| I put my, money on my clique
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| Hot shit, comin outta the barrel of my fifth
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| I got a raw flow, and I stay hungry more so
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| Guess that’s why I’m the torso
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| I pour sweat when I perform shows
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| What I record goes down as the best but the vets won’t let that torch go
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| Y’all could keep it, they got flashlights now
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| And flame-throwers, and I got one on my back right now
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| Remain focused, is what I tell myself now and then
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| Don’t wanna go back to that block like where Varejao defends
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| Uh-oh (uh-oh) my stomach growls again, I ain’t none of you cowards friends
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| Every human out of my sight, before I count to ten
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| One two three four five six seven eight
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| I’m hungry like I never ate
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| Set a table up with knives forks and spoons, I’m 'bout to get a plate
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| All these weak dummies lookin at me like a pepper steak
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| Me and these dudes never separate, we ain’t married
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| Yeah but every time I touch a pen I sorta set a date
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| I’ll devastate your career, look I’mma demonstrate
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| Let me get a good breath I take before I regulate
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| Okay (okay) bye-bye you guys, don’t try to rhyme
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| Cause line for line what I design is mine and mines, point is I’m divine
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| And I’m right behind the big guy that shines
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| All the light in mine so my eyes can find a nice dime to grind
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| C’mere girl, toma toma, take that take that
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| I fuck with, nothin but gangstas
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| Nothin but hustler niggas, sound off, sound off (HUT!)
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| I fuck with, nothin but my clique
|
| Nothin but hot shit follow me, sound off, sound off (HUT!)
|
| I fuck with, nothin but gangstas
|
| Nothin but hustler niggas, sound off, sound off (HUT!)
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| I put my, money on my clique
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| Hot shit, comin outta the barrel of my fifth
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| You rappers chasin popularity by any means doin silly things
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| Buyin too many size 20 skinny jeans
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| The West treat me like I’m really king
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| I’m Pacquiao in the Philippines, illest thing them niggas seen
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| You rappers dressin like you finna sing «Billie Jean»
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| I gotta intervene, fuck you I’mma intervene
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| You loud talkin wouldn’t kill a thing
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| Matter of fact, where’s your head nigga? |
| I got the guillotine
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| Fuck yo' Hollywood limousine and rented bling
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| I give you three red dots and I call it a triple beam
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| I’ll put your pad on your property fag
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| Properly rob you and hop in the Jag
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| If you stoppin the profit the Glock’ll be poppin
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| Your body’ll rock a colostomy bag
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| Shot in the abs, moms’ll be sad
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| Pops’ll be mad, doctor be glad
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| Possibly stoppin a plasma droppin
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| Clock runnin out and the outcome bad
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| Any one of you niggas that’s fuckin with my team
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| Pretty-ass thing with the infra-red beam
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| Sleep on that and get killed while you dream
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| Fuck a rap group, Slaughterhouse a machine
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| Slaughterhouse a regime
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| I’m gooned up if you know what I mean
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| Everybody wanna be down with the king
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| No-no-no-no-no fly zone (no fly zone)
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| I fuck with, nothin but gangstas |
| Nothin but hustler niggas, sound off, sound off (HUT!)
|
| I fuck with, nothin but my clique
|
| Nothin but hot shit follow me, sound off, sound off (HUT!)
|
| I fuck with, nothin but gangstas
|
| Nothin but hustler niggas, sound off, sound off (HUT!)
|
| I put my, money on my clique
|
| Hot shit, comin outta the barrel of my fifth
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| My one goal’s to astonish
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| Tell the president, V.P. |
| (you could) notify the congress
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| They say I’m arrogant, pompous but I’m honest
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| I tell 'em keep an accomplice away from the accomplished
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| They still makin threats on your highness
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| But I tell 'em where I be, they just ignore the compass
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| I think all your mans' Play-Doh
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| I don’t buy that movie «Fandango»
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| Fans they know that what, you a soldier to a general, baby steel
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| Got it in the bag, airtight, Navy SEAL
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| Tell lil' dudes I ain’t mad at y’all
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| College kids like Asher Roth
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| Y’all just trying to put food on the table
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| And I’mma just come and try snatch it off
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| If it ain’t from me, most young dudes will be angrily
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| But anxiously awaitin bankruptcy
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| Wonder what makes lil' muh’fuckers think they’re the same as me
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| I’m synchronized, you and your mens’ll die
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| Learn certain shit you ain’t meant to try
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| Got the ground covered with some niggas in disguise
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| Best bet’s to attempt to fly
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| Shit’s a gang, you down you in for life
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| Fuck y’all I ain’t gotta generalize
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| Y’all ain’t able to write what the pen describes
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| So when he asked what I meant and why I tell him
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| I fuck with, nothin but gangstas
|
| Nothin but hustler niggas, sound off, sound off (HUT!)
|
| I fuck with, nothin but my clique
|
| Nothin but hot shit follow me, sound off, sound off (HUT!)
|
| I fuck with, nothin but gangstas
|
| Nothin but hustler niggas, sound off, sound off (HUT!)
|
| I put my, money on my clique
|
| Hot shit, comin outta the barrel of my fifth |