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    Ridenhour - Young

    It's overtime
    So the lyric
    They fear it
    When they hear it
    The flow
    100 miles and runnin
    Get near it
    And go
    Check it out
    To the race
    Give the drummer a taste
    The bass iz commin commin
    Suckas runnin from it
    Damn, why you call him
    The man
    Here I am scramm
    Never ran
    Never fight the black
    From Iraq
    Or Iran
    Who bombed Japan
    Blood on his hands
    Part of a plan
    He don't really believe
    In uhh! God damn

    If it comes down to shuttin
    Them down
    I'm in the hood surrounded
    Tell em I'm grounded
    I'm on that psycho analytical
    Tip if politics iz stickin to
    The mix
    Like tricks
    I'm one more time givin time
    Where the rhyme go
    Elite to the street
    To the brothas doin death row
    So where ya at
    If the beat ain't fat
    Say what

    And get some
    Rattle rattle
    Kiss and I hum
    Come can you
    Get it on the one
    C'mon pick it up
    Pick it at
    Pack it at
    Pack it up
    To the black
    Who be talkin
    Where they at
    Where they at
    Wicked wild
    Feelin irie
    Not sorry
    Get it see it written down in a diary
    Same say fuck all dat
    Political shit
    But wanna get paid when
    Their brains in the second grade

    Nowhere to run/here they come come
    Nowhere to run/here they come come

    I'm a fan first
    I reverse another trick verse
    To the point
    Where I can rock dis funky joint
    In the brain game, I'm keepin my head clear
    In 33 years so what
    I never had a beer
    I don't know what I'm missin
    I'm not dissin
    But I know I ain't ass kissin
    Time to draw the line
    This time the rhyme
    Got da good guy goin gettin da nine
    Cause I know the hoody
    Got it good wit the hitman
    Can I get a hitman
    Know I'm duckin nat quicksand
    The funky automatic
    Handlin static
    Sellin out I ain't good at it
    & when I got bumbed
    I'm gonna open up
    Hitt em up stone to da bone
    But it ain't gotta be like that

    And thats that
    Can u tell me yall...what
    All in wit the law
    They fall in
    The great white hole where they
    Be sellin their soul
    Never get enough
    They be talkin dat roughneck shit
    Be comin they quit
    Fuck dat blood iz ticker
    Than water shit
    That shit iz counterfeit
    Devil go where da shoe fit
    Black mans law iz raw like Africa
    You violate
    Were comin after ya

    There here

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    Todas as letras de Public Enemy

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