Verse One: Scoob
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Hah hah, hey hey, laugh now nigga
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My man's right behind you, Kane pull the trigger
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I don't play, I'm from the hill where shit is real
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And I'll be on your ass like bugs on a windshield
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So bring your grip or you can think twice
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Cause I got more rhymes than a five pound bag of rice
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I'm hitting hard, oh word, I'm gon rock it
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Once the shit drops, that's dough to the pocket
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I cut hand, you still can't get no cards
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You couldn't deal with Scoob if we was playin cards
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But if I got beef and it's time for code red
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My drill is like a hoe, and be takin mad niggaz to bed
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So hurry up and skedaddle
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Even if you join a army, you still couldn't battle
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So where you from? England, you somebody great?
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You burnin Scoob, "I don't think so mate"
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I got the style that gets you open like a bag of smoke
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I have your friends "Ah-hah man, that shit ain't dope"
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Leave me alone when I'm rocking on the microphone
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and play like E.T. and phone your black ass ho-wome
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Yo Sauce, if you're down with the groo-hoove
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Get on the mic and won't ya show and prove
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Verse Two: Sauce
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Hey, here I come with a slick rap, tic tac toe
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When I flip tracks, so gimme my dick, back
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I flow to it and through it, if you ever need to wonder
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how you got dope like Sauce, money you didn't do it
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I write my own with bigger hope, drink of Scope
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Wrote what I figured, nope, damn you dig a nigga doe
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Rhymes too drastic, bastard, pull hookers like elastic
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N-B-A style, fann-tastic
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No time to bite, but I just might, tonight I write left-handed
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cuz I like, to grab my dick with my right
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Who could ever say that I don't get plenty play
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Win Lose or Draw, I'm bookin whores, anyway
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As I get ready I'm steady if I go crazy I'd take Eddie
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if I was Fred, I think I'd have to bone Betty
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Suckin and luckin, hey, niggaz I'm duckin, nay
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Nada no never meaning ain't no motherfuckin way
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Rappers get gassed come on and get fast
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Try to get past when I blast, and you can HAND over your ass
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One line and that's fear
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Rappers get so damn pussy they gotta go for a pap smear
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So Shyheim, if your down with the groove
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Get on the mic it's time to show and prove
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Verse Three: Shyheim
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Yo, yo
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I spark the mic like weed that's in a cipher
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And I get girls open like a reggae song by Tiger
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So check me out, as I flip this here track kid
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And make mad noise like a Metallica record
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I'm psycho, a villain to the styles I be killin
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when I'm thrusted, and all competition gets dusted
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Cause I rock the world from U.S.A. to Asia to Russia
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If your shit stinks I'ma flush ya, then bust ya
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Like a crazy man from Cali son
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My jams be packed like a Farrakhan rally, what?
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You know my style, I put the F in effin foul
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The Rugged Child locks you down like Rikers Isle
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And got more girls than a Trailerload with Shabba
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More Super than Cat, I'm the punani Don Dada
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So Big Daddy, if you're down with the groove my man
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Get on the mic and won't ya show and prove
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Verse Four: Big Daddy Kane
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Now tell me whoooo is the mannnn?
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With the high-potent lyrics no rapper can ever stand
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And steppin to me, thinkin I can be touched? Huh
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Not even Michael Jordan'll gamble that much, yo
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I get down on it and give it to rappers that even act like they want it
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I come for your title kid, run it!
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Or else get hit with the ultimate, too legit skit
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Ahh yeah, that's that shit
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Drop lyrics on ya, strong as ammonia
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That is I thrown ya, scold ya, Jones ya, I tried to warn ya
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You was wack since I known ya, fake as a cubic zirconia
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What did I just show ya, real lyrics doggone ya
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Look inside my rap book at every text my man
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and see that I got, more essays than the Mexican
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The Messiah that's feared great, leavin rappers in a weird state
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Scared straight, for their prepared fate
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Strong as an elephant, intelligent, compelling and elegant
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So well in it with every single element
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And competition gets none! Huh
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If I was wearing pantyhose you still couldn't give me no run
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I see the way you're trying to get to me,
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but with with speech impedi-ment, man you gotta come better G
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Yo |