| Grab a hold of your heart and visualize it’s a kickin'
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| A hollow point slug comin' outta black biscuit
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| You ain’t just from death, we round to the corner, comin' quick
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| We method outta minds and just don’t give a shit
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| God damn it, gun shots we bust from the clip
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| Wicked bad boy, snatch the burner on my hip
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| So feel ya hopes and get dead Mr. Buster
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| 'Cause we ain’t got love for none of y’all muthafuckas
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| Chief the black Bar Hard, to do a Rabbi
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| You’re too leary to live, but you not wan' die
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| All these MC’s wit they fancy names and games
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| I know from the heart, that them not mean a thing
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| Big up to all the real heads, wit the knuckle game
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| Rest in peace to all my niggas that was murdered and slain
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| All heads realize, recognize, Smif-N-Wessun on the rise
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| You better recognize, I’m beamin' each and every individual
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| Who listen to that voice in ya head when it be kickin' truth
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| The heads that represent around the way
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| Showin' and provin', keepin' it movin', until they break day
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| Realize what’s before ya eyes
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| Then see if you see the same real as we
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| When I say Smif-N-Wessun, this is what I mean
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| Nothin' alive, of rid dreams could never come between
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| Original Clik, roll thru the thin
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| And when shit got thick, we still manage to stick
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| Doing crimes wit deceptagons, up inside of the times
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| Help me at times, and keep our minds organize
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| So our knees won’t bend, for the enemy
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| Tek and me, crime partners til the end
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| From the heart of where it all started
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| Bucktown, Boot Camp representin' for all the dearly departed
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| Next, we comin' to speak to the real MC’s
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| 'Cause the weak MC’s, will win the breeze
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| Smif-N-Wessun hold the remedy, runnin' wit' the Boot Camp
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| On the search for the enemy
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| And the crew happens to be amongst we
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| Fuck this, we bring them to court and serve justice
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| See me and my Clik got a thing going on
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| True to the game and the love makes us strong
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| For every day trials and tribulations
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| You try to stop us, get rocked by the nation
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| See my forefront of soldiers, ready to blow ya
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| Leave ya back broke and ya body slumped over
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| The war is on and the stakes is gettin' high
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| You kill 'em on dead, if them shit where them lie
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| It’s the code of the streets, when you out wit ya peeps
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| Bumpin' on the beat, be on point for the sweeps
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| Pigs, harass that ass for the drug cash
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| Armageddon soon come keep the gun stash
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| But for the meanwhile, cess ease the stress
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| Takin' gun shots through the nose, through the chest
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| Bless the sense, that get me irie
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| And all praises due to all mighty
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| Before I go to bed, I take a L to the head
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| Reminisce over words that was once said
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| By my man, God rest his soul, I was told stand bold
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| When under pressure, don’t fold
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| To my brother, my nigga Rambo, you know we love ya
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| I wish ya was around, to see us rip through the underground
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| Smif-N-Wessun dedicate this to my man Sean Grady, the R
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| One love baby |