| Another Gooch productions, what, yeah
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| My people’s Q on the boards
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| Once again, yo, yo, yo, yo
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| We that team that loves to scheme, and
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| Everybody move they body, and
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| 9th Prince about to shoot up ya party, and
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| Go and tell a friend, go and tell a friend
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| Aiyo, we always doing crime, half my Army doing time
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| Sit back, and let ya mind incline, first degree, murder rhymes
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| Throwing signs, iller than cocaine lines
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| Like the sun I shine, my next album
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| Is selling for two dimes, that’s twenty dollars
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| Back in '89, I was popping ya’ll niggas collars
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| I tried to crossover, it didn’t work
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| Revenge of 9th Prince, now I’m back in the dirt, yo
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| Celebrity Deathmatch, all-star squadron
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| Magnificent men, Park Villa was the dungeon
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| I was only 11, performing live like a reverend
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| Little gangsta raps, so I represented the seven
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| Now surrender like unarmed ninjas
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| Shaolin finest avengers, born beginners
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| Turn winners with the sinners, I’m serious as a heart attack
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| You like the way my guns clap, only the streets can adapt to killa raps
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| Aiyo, tortureous flows, keep me on my toes
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| Sharp like my little brother elbows, promo shows
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| Shootouts everywhere, bullets flew through his Kangol
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| Return of Madman, shot up the front row
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| Lockdown all exits, kidnap promoters
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| Sold bottles of coke, and I ain’t talking about cola
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| Staten Island soldiers, bulletproof Range Rover
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| Four dot six, so when you see me coming
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| Prepare for the crucifix, my niggas is sick
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| Like the Exorcist, dusted out on Stapleton park benches
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| Poetry sentence, blow holes in ya keyboard sequence
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| My mind is my defense
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| Yeah, once again, the 9th Prism get up in 'em
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| With the rhyme rhythm, word up
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| Shout out to my whole Killarm', Staten Island, what up |