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    [Slug]
    Hence forth, step within my psychoanalysis
    callouses upon my mind make me strain for my lines
    out I ripped it, squeezed the brain: it made some liquid
    drained it in a cup and then I sipped it
    Atmosphere! The mic let me clutch it
    thoughts take flight so fit the Slug in your pipe and take a
    puff kid
    fuck it! I heat it like a tea pot - steam hot
    upon the roof: shoot a marble with the verbal slingshot
    take aim, here I came, I'm the same
    Back in '86, I'da tag my name upon your window pane
    stained the mind: a deep shade of residue
    voices within the head make choices multiple
    multiply Spawn, Slug a little buzz
    and Atmosphere the scuds, cuz here come the judge
    blasted; so pass the kid a mic so we can paint this
    image of the gifted-anxious, to flip the language
    it's the noun meltdown from the outer-shell
    now smell the burning flesh fresh from the hell-bound
    and come on down here, this mind path, I'm half-
    mathematic Atmospheric staff with the rhyme craft
    comin to capture, your after-laughter
    while I'm hangin from this rafter, I have to rip this rapture
    cuz the cramps in my stomach, dismantle
    when I tamper with your amplifier, damn you die...

    Why try?
    The sky presents an eternally unfolding spectacle:
    One moment puffs of cumulous clouds get across it
    and next a billowing thunderhead
    perhaps 10 miles high looms over the horizon
    probing the structure of the sky...
    Why try?

    Cause I can read an emcee from front to back
    from the cover to the classified - I've pacified
    my mind with my rhyme skills - I climb hills
    and leap, foolish twitch with a single bound
    sending tingles down your spine, designed to swing a pound
    this ax-handle triple-inch-spike protruding
    from the tip of my mic distrubuting fuckin headshots
    shots to your head, now you're knee-deep, you need sleep
    as you trutch thru the sludge and the slugs and the bird shit
    we swarm with the bees and diseases
    and even if your deejay was Jesus, you could never fuck with
    these kids
    I've swarmed with the bees and diseases
    and even if your deejay was Jesus, you could never fuck with
    these kids

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    [Spawn]
    Yea muthafucka! you know who you fuckin with
    you know what kind of ass whooping comes with this
    your whole crew could get some of this,
    your wack ass fuck kids is what the subject is
    roughnecks live, for only a second
    then they give
    oblivion's, what you've stepped in
    your reps t, should have been lookin
    I'm sick of you bitch-ass crews when:
    you tried take what's not your but 'cha couldn't
    take mine, your fake rhymes - spit them you shouldn't
    what will it be now? another victory
    yo who will it be now? it's Spawn that emcee
    complete, a true champ - stamp that on my essence
    amped shootin presence, fattenin each fuckin sentence
    when its time, then it's time to go
    that's what I know, be rippin mics at every show we flow
    but who's got my back though?

    [Slug]
    Stress, Beyond, ANT, the Slug

    [Spawn]
    so you best be on your way before there's trouble...

    Información de la canción

    Composición: D. Turner

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