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Parental Discretion
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Busta Rhymes
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1
Aye yo I'm hard to talk to, if you live I probably thought you stalked you
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Where you walked to at night, caught you then tried to extort you
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New York niggas is trigger happy, got Pataki scared
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This town ain't big enough for both of us and I ain't goin' nowhere
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There it is, plain and simple like Jigga my game is mental
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While slow niggas better know I blow their brains out they temples
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I'm into black magical torture romantic dramatical author
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Compatible with the average New Yorker
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A fast talker, like Tony when gas whores I'm the masked enforcer
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Out for the cash and the cho-cha
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Smash the coca, bottle it up watch the fiends gobble it up
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If I roll up, you do what? Swallow the stuff
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I don't give a fuck anymore, I'm only twenty-four years old
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And I've already broken every law
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I'm horror core, this is for the heads
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Runnin' up in your crib, knot if you still hot in under the bed
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[Chorus]
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Yo, parental discretion advised, please cover your eyes
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Little kids, get out of here! This shits is homicide!
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Drugs and money, this ain't no Bugs Bunny!
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Little girls too; this ain't for you it's for the thugs honey!
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Hey yo my shit's the truth, one fifty proof no question
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Parental discretion advised, keep out the eyes of the youth
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It's too explicit, bullshit! I challenge the statistics
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Violence existed before our music was even suggested
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Arrested on sight, it's like there's no rights
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That's why I rhyme so aggressive and bring every message to life
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I fight the power, spite the power the 90 percent
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Keep 10 and feed Twin half for personal reasons
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The seasons change things re-arrange, but I stay the same
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Play the game, for the wealth, until I've made myself a name
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So blame it all on the gangster rapper, thanks to Joey Crack
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For the chance to do it my way like Frank Sinatra
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I ain't a actor so it's all facts, strictly raw rap
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Totally intended for yours dressed in all black
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With the ski mask, or the pantyhose makin' cameos
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In liquor store cameras with the twin Calico's
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[Chorus: x2]
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So forget the boom, one look, you shook, you know I'm stickin' you
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Liftin' you off the ground, look down, that's where I'm puttin' you
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Look in my eyes and remember me, how does it feel mentally
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Havin' the enemy be the last thing you ever see?
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The recipe is death and I'm the chef, fricaseein' your flesh
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Be my guest, but I ain't cleanin' the mess
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Me and TS we testin' niggas faith, just to see they face
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Expression when destined to states, that death be in the case
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I'm in the state of grace, in the hated race, by the pagan face
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Couldn't fight us, made a virus, gave us AIDS
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I paint the wake 'cause they ain't get me yet, wet me
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Or reflect me yet, I know they comin' they just tryin to let me sweat
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I wreck it like when I was just a boy, eatin Chips Ahoy!
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Wasn't allowed to raise my voice, now I'm makin' noise
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No more toys, strictly Mac's and missiles, shorties with forties
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Packin pistols catchin bodies make sure we'll get you
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So they say, I pray there's a better way
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My kids don't do as I do, they do as I say, 'cause daddy don't play
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[Chorus: x2]
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Word is bond
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One thing about MC's is that we don't conceal the truth
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We present real pictures about the positive and the negative
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So don't blame the hip-hop
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When your seed is learnin' the real life from us
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Do your duty at home and raise your child in the house parents
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You don't do your job
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We gonna put your children to bed at nine o'clock
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Past your bedtime
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You get your ass in bed
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You ain't 'posed to be hearin' this shit word up
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Punishment motherfuckers!
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By the Punisher, and Busta Rhymes, hah
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Terror Squad! Flipmode Squad niggas!
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