| Ooh, look out here comes another one
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| Ooh, look out here comes another one
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| Ooh, look out here comes another one
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| Ooh, look out here comes another-
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| It was '75 when I crashed the globe
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| Looking for the light out on the Damascus road
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| So I put two feet down on a rock
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| And got a cool bass loop and a beat I could chop, jazz-stastic
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| Whatever the cat traffics, fast with a classic
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| Unsurpassed tactics, I spit rhyme more sick than strychnine
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| And swing into a rhythm like I’m griping a zip-line
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| Ducking and diving, pumping with tight timing
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| Bump and collide, flying an uppercut to the eyelid
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| Relentless, intense like a tempest
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| Just one sentence dents your five senses
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| Taking aim with every title I wrote
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| I’m an unlikely assassin, eyeing the scope
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| And I’ll hold a live mic like a knife at your throat
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| Why’d you provoke? |
| Now you’re begging and crying but nope
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| I’m not crude or awful, rude or hostile
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| But on stage fire shoots through my nostrils
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| I burn putting on a show for the crowd
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| You’re on the ropes now, better throw in a towel or…
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| Ooh, look out here comes another one
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| Ooh, look out here comes another one
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| Ooh, look out here comes another one
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| We gotta hit 'em hard, let 'em know who’s number one
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| Ooh, look out here comes another one
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| Ooh, look out here comes another one
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| Ooh, look out here comes another one
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| Bringing those high powered punches from my lung
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| Set 'em BlabberMouf
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| Here comes another one and another one
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| I flow, I’mma give it another, try to keep up with the pace
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| But the lyrics I try to understand the way I’m flowing
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| Lyrics, I cover them up, bust 'em up
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| Rhythm and inspiration are crying for my travels and such
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| I got another more types of lyrical ganja in matter guess what
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| I came back and never do I won and then some
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| So I grab the mic and spit it, keep my skills up
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| Even though people only see the result and don’t see your input
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| So what up, Andy Cooper, let us blast the joint
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| Touched the ground with my business when I blast my voice
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| Through the sound system, giving 'em sick fulfilments, of course
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| I gotta tell you sound like Andy Moor (it's hardcore!)
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| Don’t be spending since I crashed the goal
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| In '87 in the villa my verbal regiment making rappers
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| So stepping in the gap oh sure perfection is Blabbermouf
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| 'Cause they know that rap is a sport of contact
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| And it ain’t nuthin' than that so they jet in, jet in
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| Now I’m making 'em wanna my lyrical talk and the type of a beat
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| Slashing your pumps so we keeping it one hundred
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| While I bless the mic and stand high no one can take it from me
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| No one can take it from me, no one can take it from me
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| While I bless the mic and stand high no one can take it from me
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| Ooh, look out here comes another one
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| Ooh, look out here comes another one
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| Ooh, look out here comes another one
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| We gotta hit 'em hard, let 'em know who’s number one
|
| Ooh, look out here comes another one
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| Ooh, look out here comes another one
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| Ooh, look out here comes another one
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| Bringing those high powered punches from my lung |