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Friday, 7 December 2007

Lemme spit a 16 for ya

No doubt, my skills are unmatched... unsurpassed
My mind acts like a gat, weak n****s' dome get blast
Broken like glass, their last moment's now the past
As my words crack their skulls open like an axe
Dumbfounded they be, so they fall on their ass
Ask a n**** to relax, but Rippa can't relax
The God gotta make sure he puts his sh*t on wax
Let the needle decipher all that's been said on track
Wave travelling, troubling the nervous system
Of fake n****s who can't deliver hits that be banging
Or shorties on the dancefloor whom they asses be shaking
Break waist with they miniskirts flying, I be in Heaven
From 11 in the evening to 3 up in the morning
Then before hitting the sheets, green leaves I be blazing
High essence penetrating for more nerve shattering
In lyrical magnificience, Rippa's done with sixteen!


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