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    I wait to see your skull vibrate  
    when I bury the hatchet  
    I hope you catch it  
    I'll attach it  
    to his focus when I broke his head in half  
    feel the wrath on my behalf  
    I drop math  
    and english  
    leaving you squeamish  
    then I squish your wish  
    you're all phucken dreamers  
    no time for tiddlywinks if your tities is pinks  
    then you are white and I'm not the right man (not for me)  
    but you can blow pipe and my style is so tight  
    I be carvin' mc's when I'm starvin'  
    you little chunks of punks that I dunks in my coffee  
    get off me I'm not your softie  
    but you will call through your breath to him,  
    def to them  
    silly broads, I phuck them then I chuck them  
    in the river  
    without a liver,  
    then I donate to science, 'cause I'm a giver  
    the mysterious clearly busts brains with my brawn  
    ask Sean  
    Cassidy about how I trash mc's  
    on the daily, Alex Haley had to write about it  
    darlin but it's true  
    get a clue  
    I'm tellin you the truth you'll be toothless  
    then the boots gets smoked like they on fire,  
    I desire  
    like Salt N Pepa I'll phuck a fat heifer,  
    like I was Fritz the Cat  
    and she admits to fat,  
    so I'm movin' removin wackness from my stratosphere  
    if I thought that that was near. . .  
    [CHORUS:]  
    "Still bet that you can harm me, but you don't alarm me..."  
    You're just a test tub baby  
    you can't fade me  
    but hey, G your style is lazy  
    boy you're crazy  
    losin' it  
    check out my fusion kit  
    it's welding rhymes and propelling  
    swelling,  
    getting bigger  
    getting niggas in headlocks  
    instead lock your scanners on Bruce Banner  
    I crush fools plus tunes used by the master  
    will blast you into Tuesday  
    when I bruise a mutha phucka  
    whose mother sucks a cock  
    and his brother phuck a jock  
    and his sister  
    got blisters  
    on her lips which be spreading  
    she be headin'  
    showin' cleavage  
    with my futuristic styles  
    I leave kids in a trance  
    hypnotisin'  
    your eyes spin  
    back in your head  
    like you was dead  
    but instead  
    you was buggin'  
    ugly bitches get the dills at the show  
    cause I don't be runnin' after hoes  
    that be stank  
    I thank the lord for my thought  
    connected to the microphone  
    so check the cyclotone  
    that I be arousin', housin' blousin' you punks  
    the mac daddy makes you jump  
    I pump info into nymphos who be bonin'  
    clonin'  
    Vanessa Del Rio  
    and yes Del see no evil  
    hear no evil  
    it's normal  
    I come formal  
    to keep em warm till the morn.  
    [CHORUS

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