[IQ]
|
Your fakeness is atrocious
|
post is deep in your hypnosis
|
then focus
|
roll this
|
and smoke this
|
like L's
|
of that bomb-ass herb thats gaurenteed to rock bells
|
a hiphop refugee like Praswell
|
Travelin citys
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pimpin babblin biddys
|
game trump tight and solidified
|
comupterized
|
to get rid of spies
|
know what I do to guys
|
shootin and spittin lies
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I'm banished in exisdence
|
vanishin any instences
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brandishin sentences
|
proovin repentences
|
the only way to see me, dont miss these
|
me and my crew smoke so many trees that
|
I piss leaves
|
never _my bitch please
|
but keep smokin my system, roll blunts it's all tight
|
on an off night
|
I still smoke like exaust pipes
|
and bust a universal flow
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and blow your wig back like niggas with toupe's
|
drivin a convertable
|
and further more
|
I run the board
|
your shit is played and the way you fell off you coulnt bounce
|
back with a bungee cord
|
|
[Chorus]
|
Bring your boys in
|
we can bring the noise in
|
YOU DON'T WANNA FUCK WITH DIRTY DOZEN
|
[repeat 4 times]
|
|
[Bizarre]
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My crew is like a maze
|
put fear like ex-slaves
|
who wanna step to this microphone and think that they brave
|
dozen always startin the fuckin beef
|
I don't care if your from Kansas I'm killin the fuckin chief
|
back the fuck up I'm releasin my dumb-dumbs
|
tell your whore stop pagin me 9 1 1
|
I'm the star
|
that they call Bizarre
|
smokin blunts with Mel Far (??)
|
in my brand new car
|
_wanna see me
|
even if I was in Arizona I'd still request iced tea
|
Bizarre don't give a shit about you
|
on top of the mountain ain't nothin your bitch-ass crew
|
can do
|
sick emcee that they call Peter
|
treat your crew like an unexpected meter
|
reader
|
fuckin more shit than Howard Corsell
|
Butt-fuckin Jassabells
|
in nasty hotels
|
|
[Chorus]
|
|
[Proof]
|
How you think your crew sound compared to this
|
it's the team that your entire clique scared to diss
|
demandin attention when the glock sound
|
y'all niggas to be murdered like Jeffery Daumer on lock down
|
I'm brown like Bobby, pullin hoe's like whitney
|
Take your title, kill your moms so you won't forget me
|
lips sealed nigga I might blow important plots
|
whoever fronts is gettin done like Micheal Jordan's pops
|
sure I'm number one translator my fame dirty D
|
y'all niggas gettin hung like this was 1933
|
got word of me
|
now flee
|
cause you don't got a chance
|
death is 3 easy steps so now we gotta dance
|
so look away
|
dont play
|
with the style master
|
I love killin beef so I kill a whole cow pasture
|
lyrically I'm sick, ill everything but sober
|
my nickle plate pack the _ jackin fool get fucked over
|
|
[Eminem]
|
Dirty Dozen is the clique so I ran over and lit cha
|
ripped the ass right out ya pants like a Dovermin Pincha
|
like the cobra and ninja
|
my intentions to injure
|
and prevent ya
|
from enterin from the edge of my center
|
or get your muthafuckin pants split at the creases
|
fuckin you intelectually givin you menatly sexually transmited diseases
|
my duty is to keep a strange abard (??)
|
I guard my sector like a Saint Bernard
|
and this ain't the yard
|
Bringin the noise like a trigger happy gun slinger
|
droppin your whole clique with one finger
|
til none linger
|
beware of my dogs attackin like a pack of Great Danes
|
chargin like freight trains
|
through the great plains
|
|
[Chorus]
|
|
-----------------
|
Bring Our Boys
|
D12 |