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[Gunshots and explosions]
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(Scratching: Run DMC sample: "Run")
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Run for cover.
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Here I go again ready to flow again.
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Better hold my mic don't blow again.
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Warned by alarms when the mic gets warm.
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Crowd'll get critical can't keep calm.
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Jet for the exit why hang around?
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Words that I found make the mic melt down.
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If you stay better cooperate cuz I amputate
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and whoever don't break I'm a suffocate.
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Leave 'em with asthma, you better pass the
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mic to the massacre master who has the
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power to build and destoy at the same time,
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so track the wack at the right, and exact could shine. (?)
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Meant to beat overheat, but I won't stop,
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so evacuate the spot when the mic's hot.
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Switch it from one hand to another,
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and that's a hint, my brother, run for cover.
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Cuz I'm armed, my brain contains a bomb,
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as if I escaped from Vietnam.
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Some people label me lethal, lyrics I made then put beats to.
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Format, collapse, your lungs twist your tongues,
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you can't bump your gums off of none of the drums.
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Words that I made'll create an iller scene,
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Eric B. is the fly human being on the guillotine.
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Hook 'em up to a respirator, cuz it's the Mista Suffocator.
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What I write is like shovin' a mic down your windpipe.
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Don't let him bit rhymes Rakim write.
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No mic-to-mouth resuscitation is neccessary;
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no obituary, and if they're left, they're buried.
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As it strikes on the same mic twice and then,
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cut it on, and I'm-a strike again.
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I meditate off the breaks, till the place shakes,
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then I make rain, hail, snow and earthquakes.
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Speak the truth, tear the roof off the mother.
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The stage is stompin' grounds -- run for cover.
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(scratching)
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Evacuate the building, danger, cuz I came to explain the
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strategy that'll be tragic automatically,
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havin' me to cause another catastrophe.
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All you gotta do is give Rakim the
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microphone and the crowd'll yell "Timber."
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Buildings collapsin', rappers gettin' trapped in,
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areas closed off, no one gets back in.
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So set up roadblocks, barracade the doors,
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fade, put a detour sign on the stage.
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Hold my microphone as evidence, the weapon I use and been usin' ever since
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the days in the park when, rap was an art then.
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Plus I was dominant, determined and dark-skinned.
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Makin' it hard to walk the streets at night
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for those who talk the weak beats on the mic.
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Whoever's livin' large better wear camouflage.
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Prepare to be bumrushed when I yell charge.
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Surround by sound of the beat-down another brother,
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this is stompin' grounds, run for cover.
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Wheels or foot, better not stay put.
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Whole place shook till the mic's unhooked.
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Then you've got seven minutes to vacate the premises.
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Lyrics'll echo soon as the break finishes.
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Don't act wild, single file to the door.
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No need for an encore, just clear the floor.
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Cuz my mic's about to self destruct,
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the stage'll blow up when my rhymes erupt.
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So make sure the place is cleared out and abandoned,
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cuz minutes from now it won't be standin'.
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Then send out and A.P.B.: All Poets Beware of a brother like me.
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Now how many rhymes could your man manufacture?
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How many bitin' MCs can I capture?
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Trap rappers who try to run off at the mouth;
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take over their route, play 'em out like a Cub Scout.
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So leave troopin' for MCs at war,
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and if it's a battle let the crowd keep score.
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Cuz me and the drummer make drama, and that's word to mother...run for cover.
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(scratching)
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[instrumental]
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-----------------
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Run For Cover
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Eric B. & Rakim |