| It’s the sasquath, Jackpot
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| The roach killer, that’s what we do
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| You know what it is, you little crawly creepy bastards
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| We ain’t tripping, read the sentence
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| The Gods got it locked like upper Maine in Sam Quinten
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| You drinking muscle milk, homey, you gon' get killed
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| Walking round like Deebo, cause you slight built
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| It’s a dirty job, we get it popping hard
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| We turn this whole shit’slamming to the Mardi Gras
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| And ain’t nobody mad, it just we got it bad
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| Like a body being slumped when you hail a cab
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| Vaccum packed, concealed, no room for breath
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| I grip a mic, it’s Five Fingers of Death
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| So, stomp the roach, stomp the roach, you know?
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| Stomp the roach, stomp the roach, you know?
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| When I slip on, the grip-on, no clip on
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| And on the O’Jay’s like Christopher Pawns
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| And eat with the beast, in the valley of death
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| Walk on the right, but I shoot with the left
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| Stomp out a roach with the decon breath
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| All you little rat bastards, I stomp you to death
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| Stomp the roach, stomp the roach, you know
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| Stomp the roach, stomp the roach, yo
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| Four more seconds 'fore the bomb come on
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| Roach killer, you scatter when the lights come on
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| You can run on, and start ducking and dodging
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| I pluck you, crush you right between the margin
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| I’m the drill sergeant, I’m the boric acid
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| The black flag nigga, the bio hazard
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| The econimist of the bio standard
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| And he sprayed the myst on them fly’s that landed
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| And I can be obvious or I can be candid, but
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| I’m shaking roaches off my shoes and socks
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| Then I, pluck roaches out my Fruit Loop box
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| Then I, tell my girl to change all the locks
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| Then I, throw my finger at the hip hop cops
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| Then I, put on my Timbs, then I stomp the block
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| Cause I, stomp the roach, stomp the roach, you know?
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| Stomp the roach, stomp the roach, you know?
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| Stomp the roach, stomp the roach, you know
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| Stomp the roach, stomp the roach
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| They known to leech off people for, years and years
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| They cause trouble by, staying up in, niggas ears
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| They set up shops in apartments in projects
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| Bold enough to roll up on, any object
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| Grabbing on my gear til they pull the label off
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| They fight for the crumbs that’s on my table cloth
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| They keep they antennas up, the signals strong
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| They got the neighborhood bugged, that’s how they survived so long
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| Immune to 'combats' and, household 'raids'
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| Like informants that’s living off, government aid
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| We leave roaches where the remain and trash lays
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| Incinerate it, they spend they last days in ashtrays
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| Ignored by the dogs, but, chased by the cat
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| Like a sneaky ass rat that got caught in the trap
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| A small time nigga, who didn’t have a clue
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| It take a million of ya’ll just to fill up my shoe
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| Stomp the roach, stomp the roach, yeah
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| Stomp the roach, stomp the roach, uh-huh
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| Stomp the roach, stomp the roach, yeah
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| Stomp the roach, stomp the roach, uh-huh
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| Stomp the roach, stomp the roach, you know
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| Stomp the roach, stomp the roach, you know
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| How long till you get me off the hook? |
| For old time’s sake
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| I can’t do it, Sally
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| Don’t ever take sides with anyone, against the family again ever |