| I stay in Office Depot and Staples
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| Pack up my pens and paper, keep rollin more yellow pad
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| I get mega sonic on you niggas, beta sonic on your niggas
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| You keep power supply, I’m Teknotronix
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| Better than Mantronix
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| Arrangements get ridiculous, ask anybody out there
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| I’ll shock ya — you’re like a backup
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| To Goldstar TV set, too advance for the U. S
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| Leave New York, pee on Europeans
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| Your hot producers, your coffee and all that stuff
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| That’s right, look around, you’re like H.R. Puffinstuff
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| Nothing’s about you rough
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| You done it, you did that, and you get back
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| You sit back, look around, you get licked back
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| Yo…
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| We have, coffins, by the millions
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| We can, put you, in the ground
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| Your body is stiff, the coffin closed, your family close by
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| Cemetery plots, a black rose, I heard a crow cry
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| As bells ring, for your spirit angels in Hell sing
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| Your tunnel starts to darken, you’re slippin into a long dream
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| Eternity, eternally until
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| Soul banished, back to where the heathen laid to rest
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| It ain’t no peace to be havin
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| Let it happen, ain’t no fightin your fate, it’s Armageddeon
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| Permanently no way in Hell to see heaven
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| Let your spirit float way
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| You see a new beginning, fire flesh for all your sinning
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| Black tinted limousines, black hearse and crying women
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| Sing of death blade, and sing a song called die
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| While The Funeral Director spill your blood like wine
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| Reverand Tom at the altar, M-Balmer light that fire
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| Time to cremate the whole world, wicked souls must die
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| That’s right. |
| we are, Thee Undatakerz
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| And we will, bury you
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| Bury you so deep… so deep you would think you were in Hell
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| From whom the bells toll, or whom will be doomed
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| Darker liquor I consume, gettin in the embalming room
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| No pulse are detected, send him over to The Funeral Director
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| And Al Bury-U and Reverand Tom did what he came to do
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| M-Balmer, holdin down the morgue
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| Pull yo' body out the drawer
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| Got these fools from the Eastside, the fluid’s what they came here for
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| Put the rest in my lab coat and serve them fools a part
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| Now I’ma keep rock to chop, stirrin up to the pulpit
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| And deliver it, I spit sparks like gunfire straight to they head
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| What’s the purpose of the strap if he’s already dead?
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| Stretched out, because of somethin that nobody said
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| Warning, gee williker cause that Tec-9 be killin ya
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| Hit the main artery, he’s lookin real saucy
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| Chrome to yo' dome and lookin like Top Ramen
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| Yeah, that’s right
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| You thought you motherfuckers was gonna get away
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| You thought she wouldn’t be able to embalm you
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| She’s actually gonna, put, your head, up, your ass
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| To see if it fits!
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| That’s right, we are Thee Undatakerz
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| And we’re not here to fuckin play with you
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| We’re gonna show you, where things go
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| How far deep they will be
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| And how far in you will go
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| Ha, hahahahaha! |
| Ohahahahahaha |