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I don't anyone could hardly sound worse
Ya' flow zig zags like the lines on Charlie Brown's shirt
Ya' found in the dirt, it's a fact that Cre'll smack kids
Serving you more backhands than Pete Sampras
It's that white boi.. Clutchin' the point three one
I'm sneakin' loaded guns on ya set, like ya Bruce Lee's son
The way I clutch the steel, got guys finished
Guns'll pop out of nowhere, but without Popeye's spinach
Grab the message or flip shit.. Cos I spit wicked
You're creating your own grave.. Can ya' dig it?
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My calibre got me thinking on a higher algebra
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