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831 cali


meanone

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thats what im saying not only is our great nation having a radical time parrtying we are also supplying guns for the mexicans to exterminate themselves. and our marines are killing kingpins.

AMERICA FUCK YEAH

 

its a win situation.. so many pros..

thats a lot less people breathin the white mans air. or drinkin the white mans water. or a lot less people contaminating the white mans superior gene pool..

i can understand why this was posted in here instead of cross-fire...

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its a win situation.. so many pros..

thats a lot less people breathin the white mans air. or drinkin the white mans water. or a lot less people contaminating the white mans superior gene pool..

i can understand why this was posted in here instead of cross-fire...

 

I like where you went with this...

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[Verse 1]

fuck creepin in yards, storm the gates 100 deep

who knew these cans of true blue was heatin thunder speech

old chicago role models was avacadoes and olives

throwups without hangovers

names older than gods is

where bombing's not a hobby, it's a habit

where addicts rappers braggin 'bout tags and dont know d**k about this graf shit

attack the metro track with fat cats for fadiic

gray-greens cant wait to see page versus daily

its on like lucky hoodies, what could he teach me

while you were sleeping, i'm teaching his kids, through grafitti

I have to argue, been rhyming this shit ain't hard to do

but technical advertisements on jarvis and harbor blue

outlined in summer squash dumb rock like darka tiger minds wrecked from running from cops

hoppin barbwire while you dream of being me between clean sheets

play the role, personality splittin' like mean streets

no room for bling blingin thugs and wack crooks

i'm tryna king the line bring ya drugs gear and black books

i'm in ya face in the tunnels and at the bruise spots

i'm on ya train insane to hit paddy wagons and rooftops

you heard of me

burgundy and outlines like murder scenes

germaneeds and ferns and flat whites for blurring greens

fuck over your heads man i'm climbing pylons

tobacco brown, montans, banana crylons

hit the red line, headlines fucked above yo

for those who must know

it's been fresh blue like rusto

 

[chorus]

"The mic's the spray can"

"Stay true to the art."

"Simple and plain, let me explain."

"This is a mission, not a small time thing."

*scratching*

"The mic's the spray can"

"Stay true to the art."

"This is a mission, not a small time thing."

 

[Verse 2]

I remember graf before more beef then hindu-sac relig

ay you right? fuck you, rap your fat cats from lids

braggin' on tracks how you snap way in the day?

masturbate to lies, i'm to busy shakin' paint rain

sleet or snow out to rock with mission's call

laugh at graffitti blasters

piss on permission walls

wrong side of the graf track with acid

3D glasses blast this shit backwards and graffitti blast the classes

after smashin vandal squads askin' what happened

i'm done rappin' colder than aspen to get your tax flipped

beef without slabs of me saggin' ya jeans

graf fiends scream for grif dip sticks, even ya tag is weak

this is for you who choose to rock lines

and toys with red pilots rockin' stop signs, stop lyin'

find ya itch, mind ya bitch to kick, bad habit

language visualize, content phat

mad graphic, pass the fat black as this cat snaps

and laugh at fashion fag writers with a fill-in

qwel villian, feels like writin' keep killin'

resurrectin' heavens buildings and bulidin heavens children

 

[chorus]

 

you ain't seen a frieght train straight aim with paint stains

or parked trucks framed in stardust brushed with fame flame

three cans of soul green sand and golden spray trucks

names dribbled down the yard, we hit the lay-ups

they spellin devils from high levels like it's a done job

couldn't mimic mr.straightlines on a etch-a-sketch with one knob

shy ills killin villians with fill-in illest noise rocks

toy scratched bombed the way out of this pine toy box

tag ya backpack straps it's past ya bedtime

heads find dead-or-alive this time to hit the redlines

the autograph slaughtercrap artists laugh at man's design

the last on society signed like pantomimes

buff the blackboard, attack it with true blue

no matter how you see it, you lose like flippin zulu

I used to paint my name on trains to get my thrill on

much love fucker but once was motherfucker, we still bomb

 

I wont stop painting 'till the world looks the way it should

I'm on a mission to make heaven look like my neighborhood

 

I wont stop painting 'till the world looks the way it should

I'm on a mission to make heaven look like your neighborhood

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