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Lyrics
how verb merkin this tourney with no ammo
servin these herbs on a platter like roast cattle
matter fact slurrin my words it don't matter
i still sound three times better than jay canto
paradox summoned a god to do battle
with a peasant farmer who should be workin my plateau
no problem, harlem got my back tho
plus i do everything jay canto can't do
like, cover a raw beat with rap flow
or sneakin in through his girl's back door
or, spit for that cheese like mozarella
leavin more seeds in his girl than watermelon
for this caper, i am a proper felon
i helicopter chop his girl til her box swellin
i murder cats and i don't got a weapon
i just put jay out like i was rocafella
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