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samedi, avril 23, 2005

sonic poetry (the illest kind)

Things just ain't the same for gangsters but I'm a little too famous to shoot these pranksters all of these rap singers claimin they bangers doing all sorts of twisted shit with they fingers disrespecting the game, no home trainin or manners I was doin this shit when you was shittin pampers I was movin them grams 'fore you, knew what a hand that hand was duckin the vans, radars, the scanners 'fore you knew what hard white to tame was I was hittin the turnpike, aight with the bammers I was nice with my hands, cuss aight with them hammers I was prickin my finger 'fore you knew what a fam was I had it laid out 'fore you knew what a plan was three hundred mill' later, now you understand us y'all ain't see us comin through Vegas you ever seen so much cham' bust in one night grand fucked up one fight I was on the peter pan bus you was peter pan up in your room, y'all fuckin with whom? Allowed me to be taught you cowards is just now learnin the shit that we talk you niggers ain't know about a robb report 'bout a high speed porsche, i.e. you niggers ain't know how to floss 'til I came through the door like "Eric B. for Pres," respect me in this BITCH! you can't disrespect us cause you got a little check cut you was suckin for so long, fuckin your little neck up now you too big for your britches, you got a few little bitches you think you hugh hefner, you just ridiculous I blew breath for you midgets, I gave life to the game It's only right I got the right to be king niggers that got life really like what I sing 'cause they know is he really like, niggers feel my pain know the shit I DON'T write be the illest shit that's ever been recited in the game word to the hyphen in my NAME! J, A, Y, DASH, Hoffa the past present nigga the future, proper he holy trinity of hip-hop is us

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