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Lyrics
Submitted By: CyBeR ThuG |
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Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yea yo |
Yo yo yo yo yo yo yo |
All them real live
mother fuckin niggaz step up front right now |
It’s goin down |
One love to Long Island Hempstead in my heart baby |
Shaolin what? |
Come on, come on, HA! |
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Dangerous ground |
Tre pound seven spin around for my
brethren the clouds come down |
War and peace, I take it to the street |
Land sharp on my lawn chop the thumbs off a thief |
And curse his first born, is this thing on? |
Send ‘em to the children of the corn we the people |
See, niggaz through the eye of the demon |
My lethal injection, destroyin evil |
Hot Nikkel, private eye one pistol |
Aimin at your brain tissue, do or die |
Said the spider to the fly “Could this one be tasty” |
Like momma apple pie goodness, Johnny Blaze me |
On the job like Dick Tracy |
Hit the cure for that ill shit like Ben Casey, M.D. |
Symbolic thrill like god he shocked it |
Like a finger in a light socket, too good to be forgotten |
In the rotten apple |
I kick dirt on the sand castle |
Check the flavor all natural |
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(Beat your feet) |
Hot Niks son |
(E-mizer) |
Before you get the main course |
(Taste a appetizer) |
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Submerged in the word |
Heavy headed verbal |
Smack you, mentally disturb you attack you |
Thirty-six chamb once again comin at you |
Young gun got the body snatch you observe |
Yo eyes work you can only see through the third |
Eyeball baby I’m the norm on the bird |
To shine on mental nourishment, you can dine on |
Track yellin at me get yo arrow god |
Victory is hard |
Regardless to whom or what |
They all get retard it’s a law |
Runnin through a house and your block party, we wreck-tion |
And Hot rock the body body, St.
Bernard's |
Couldn’t save your
entourage plat lobotomy |
Leave ya mentally scarred, numb and possibly |
Dumb deaf and blind is it |
I keep your spine out the battery pack spark it with mine keep it movin |
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Now everybody just throw your hands in the......(phone rings) |
What the fuck? |
Peace - who this? |
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[Streetlife] |
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Mind detect mind |
A P.L.O. da startin line |
Deep Space Nine |
Designed for knuckleheads who bust guns and throw signs |
Let’s converse snatch the tap from your purse |
Body-surf on the verse head first |
Peeped your feet bitch straight beat you know wit the heat |
And you spazzed out spittin out teeth ain’t nothin please |
Big boys don’t destroy blunt is so pop stare on |
50 men convoy, spends to wear the big toy |
Rumble through the wasteland my hands on the silencer |
40 caliber city slicker Staten Islander |
Synchronize minds combine thoughts that motivate |
Don't’ perpetrate pass the blunt let it circulate |
Street politicians on a suicide mission |
Crime vision finger itchin from a scope-view position |
Dangerous ground |
Tre’ pound seven spin around for my
brethren the cloud comes down |
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[Method Man] |
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Yo |
Keep ya eyes open |
Love potion number nine poetry in motion |
Knowledge me the seventh sign |
Scold it
connivin |
Infiltrate is most of mine |
Play ‘em nonchalantly, calmly expose the nine |
Push and get shoved what the fuck gods thinkin of |
Comin in the club wit that screw face, actin up |
Is we men or mice, bad moon risin |
We wild for the night |
Kill a
schizophrenic nigga twice cuz-a |
That’s what happened when frontin on this Shaol brotha |
Island of Staten we in here no fear |
Assault wit intent |
To kill your whole regiment it’s real |
Startin wit yo president, duckin my dart gun |
Tear apart something you don’t want it then don’t start none |
Blaze one with Jonathon, part man part fly |
Handle my B-I
camouflage like G.I. |
Fat like Joe, a day in the life |
Your money or your life that’s the life |
Everybody can’t afford ice in the struggle |
Tryin to eat right another day another hustle hustle hustle |
(Uh huh uh huh uh huh uh huh uh huh) |
Dangerous ground |
Tre’ pound seven spin around for my
brethren the clouds come down |
War and peace, I take it to the street |
Land sharp on my lawn chop the thumbs off a thief |
Mother
fuck |
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