| Yo, swing the sword for the classic year
|
| Bring the noise with your hands up, slash and tear
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| Who can, fathom asthma, dash for air
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| Spittin’on the baby bib in the plastic chair
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| What’s up stupid?
|
| (Shoot this)
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| 1−5-1 in the shot glass
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| (Hot flash)
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| Bangin’on the drum, huh
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| We cause havoc down in Las Vegas
|
| Paper trails racing Pelican Brief-cases
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| We outrageous, name the streets gave us Yeah, we got fame, but now we heat blazers
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| I let 'em all fly, 10 in the clip, 1 in the chamber
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| Thumbs up! |
| Another banger
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| Untuck the flamer, dumbfuck
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| It’s like gettin’with a dumptruck
|
| Brains and guts
|
| Maim, cut, aim, duck, same, stuff
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| Get you cracked up like cocaine, heat 'em up OK, I’ll let a sucka’s fly once
|
| Face down, found him in his Cap’n Crunch
|
| Uh, malpractice — a bang-all jam
|
| I joust rappers and track in the radar scans
|
| Flip beats for the crew like fleets and platoons
|
| Reach for the moon like Reese Witherspoon, uh Don’t stop the sure-shot, the (???) anthem
|
| Blast the gold box, cock back the cannon
|
| What’s up partna, I got ya (what, what)
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| Hope that (spoken gunshots) crack the piata
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| Slap, box, mouth of backwash
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| Teeth mashed up on the asphalt, ya dig?
|
| Set the pace like a mustang, mashin'
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| Up the stakes, who wanna cut the cake, I take cash
|
| Dropped on a blood-stained mattress
|
| Stop, you ain’t got access, watch
|
| I’mma change my asset, Ryu and Tak
|
| You little cunts in the game, you can suck my cum
|
| And lay flat on the ground, don’t make 'em peep
|
| If you want the stains out now, get the bleach
|
| Guess who’s got the rubber gloves and the bleach?
|
| Guess who’s rockin every club, that’s me Get so hot, you feel the buzz in the streets
|
| Keeping it knockin', Jay drop that beat
|
| Guess who got the group name on top?
|
| S.o.B. |
| (Styles of Beyond) got the rap thing locked
|
| Who want what, when, why, and what not
|
| Who got next up, Ryu and Tak
|
| Yeah, here it comes, all you hear is a click
|
| Bloody brains on the sand was like Miracle Whip
|
| While the blood keeps gushin', relish and pink mustard, huh
|
| I’mma slam till I tear it to bits
|
| Till the bell for the recess rang
|
| On the defense game
|
| You feeling (???) like P.F. |
| Changs
|
| Hopscotch on the corpse till I drop the torch
|
| And burn crews for their views that would rock with force
|
| Sayin, don’t stop the sure-shot, the (???) anthem
|
| Blast the gold box, cock back the cannon
|
| What’s up y’all, we don’t stall
|
| Come one, come all till we drop the ball like
|
| Guess who’s got the rubber gloves and the bleach?
|
| Guess who’s rockin every club, that’s me Get so hot, you feel the buzz in the streets
|
| Keeping it knockin', Jay drop that beat
|
| Guess who got the group name on top?
|
| S.o.B. |
| (Styles of Beyond) got the rap thing locked
|
| Who want what, when, why, and what not
|
| Who got next up, Ryu and Tak |