no love in the blood-sport pressure brung they hung no need for life support
this brother lynch emcee's by the project bench near the ball-court
Arizona humidity dehydrates whoever they transport and my bag is Jans sport
my fam scorch off shots guzzled by the quarts that's fire-water force
we attack the high-hat burn a fifty and fall-back where the walls at
my proper flow chopper rips flesh like the claws of lobsters when they attack
stacks shoe-boxed stuffed hidden and covered up
when i need money is the only time a hoe is buttered up
with lies to throw her off my real disguise the secret knight
all i need is a studio tell nas to keep the mic
Cop trees from dealers tell em to keep the white
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