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Masta Killa
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Duel Of The Iron Mic [Live]
Lyricist:Robert F Diggs, Gary Grice, Russell T Jones, Herbert Magidson, Allie Wrubel
Pump your fist like this Pump your fist like this Just pump your fist like this Pump your fist like this
Picture bloodbaths, elevator Murderous rhymes tight from genuine craft Check the print, it's where veterans spark the Slow movin' motherfuckers waitin' for the editin'
The liquid soluble that made up the A gaseous element that burned down your ministry Herbal vapors and biblical papers Smokin' Exodus, every square yard is plush
Fuck the screw-faced photo sessions, facial expressions, reasons Try to keep a shark nigga guessin' Give crazy shouts, son, here's the outcome Cut across the semi-gloss rhymes you floss
Shit is outdated, just like neck loads of Sterling's Suede-fronts, bell-bottoms and tri-colored Shearling's I ain't particular, I bang like vehicular homicides July 4th in Bed-Stuy
Money don't grow on trees and there's thievin' MC's Who cut-throat to rake leaves, they can't breathe Blood splash, rushin' fast like runnin' rivers I be that whiskey in your liver
Duel of the Iron Mic It's the fifty-two fatal strikes
This is not a eighty-five affair, made clear When the Gods get on to perform, storms brew up Wu's up, causin' the crowd to self-destruct Killer bees are stingin' some while I reveal Find more lyrics at ※ Mojim.com
Science that's heavily guarded by the culprit Bombin' your barracks with aerodynamic Swordplay, poison darts by the doorway Minds that's laced with explosive doses
Damagin' lyrical launcher Lunge at the youthful offender then injure any contender Testin' the murderous Master lead to disaster Dynamite thoughts explode through the barrier
Rips the retina, who can withstand the Astonishing, punishing stings to the sternum? Shocked in the hip-hop livestock Seekin' for a serum to cure 'em
Adults kill for drugs, the young bucks bust Duckin' handcuffs, throats get cut when dough rush Out of town foes look shook but still pose We move like real pros through the streets we stroll
Bullet holes lace the windows in 1-6-Oh So control the avenues, that's the dream that's sold Building lobbies are graveyards for small-timers Bitches caught in airports, keys in their vaginas
No peace, yo, the police mad corrupt You get bagged up, dependin' if you're passin' the cut Plus shorty's not a shorty no more, he's livin' heartless Regardless of the charges, claims to be the hardest Individual, critical thoughts, criminal minded Blinded by illusion, findin' it confusin'
Duel of the iron mics It's that fifty-two fatal strikes Duel of the iron mics It's that fifty-two fatal strikes
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