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From the top
Shut up
Shut up
Shut up
Shut up when I’m talking to you
Shut up
Shut up
Shut up
Shut up
I’m about to br—
Wasn’t that fun?
Let’s try something else
Forty-five caliber killa
but out of the philla-dela-realla
show yall brothas how you not a guerilla
Smooth talking, fully automatic weapon concealer
Taste thriller, break thriller
Let’s hit ’em with the bounce filler
Filthy stinking, standing on solid ground
And still be sinking, submerging in the parks
Still be linking, plucked beef when it starts
To fuck your thinking, it’s not a mirage
I’m in the motherfucking tractor, yo, from out the garage
With an if, you to duck, but it’s hard to dodge
In the back of the spine where my dawgs, they lie
Going to flip it straight up, ripping apart your squad
X-ecutioner style, cuts and blends like a syringe
Hanging you from each of your limbs
See me coming through the party hard without no bodyguard
Smoking something, stomping on each of you Tims
I’m the B-to-the-L, the A, the C, K
And when it comes to planning
The thought to keep thinking, man
Shut up
Shut up
Shut up
Shut up
Shut up
Shut up
Shut up
Shut up
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