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Correct Fresh To Death Lyrics
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Artists: E
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Epic Beard Men
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Correct Fresh To Death
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Lyrics:
(Fresh. To. Death.) (Don't just stand there, let's get to it!) I wear thirteens, know what I mean? Strictly double-XL, and I don't read that fuckin' magazine Throw on some baggy fatigues, mash on the fashion police Two jacket swagger from Weez, half of you rappers, I see Wear street-wear brands, they put my graphic on tees Then try to get me to rock that shit to help with publicity You must be kidding me? A fitting? I'll go on a killing spree Rip out the stitches and seams, that shit you bit from the team I got: racks on racks and black on black, they yelling: Johnny Cash-back! Please obscure your logo Cause you owe rappers like ASCAP We don't see the promo value when posing for admats And since most people won't allow you to pay them in hashtags (is that bad?) Hey, yo, the flow's straight Hazmat and your clothes ain't half that, so I donate trash bags! I don't make Dad-Rap, though my kids stay fly So, go ahead and try it on, see if it's your size! But I don't pop tags, I pop off at the mouth! (No! No, no, no!) But I don't pop tags, I pop off at the mouth! (No! No, no, no!) But I don't pop tags, I pop off at the mouth! (No! No, no, no!) I wear what I like, you just wear my shit out (Huh! Huh! Huh! Huh!) Try not to come before the pixels in my avatar load This ain't no competition, this is me in battle-scar mode Piles of shit only get measured in toxic rap-bars Or in rock catwalks with anorexics rocking fat-farms (You spit sweet-sixteens!) I straddle that, lapse the disgust and smuggle the struggle of your Daddy's trust, to the back of the bus! It don't take an idiot-savant, Hillbilly-with-heart, to recognise what the prize, kid, he's won! So, who let the critical mass commence? Slinging afterlife jackets, and these half-ass attempts to pass the buck End the Fed, feed the poor, even the score and, um, hedge our bets Deep pockets and cheap wallets, and the scene that seems To seek solace in ripping off seamstresses of street knowledge Derelicte's garbage is so hot! So, don't talk trash! I speak sinus and blow spots, so, how 'bout that? I don't pop tags, I pop off at the mouth (No! No, no, no!) I don't pop tags, I pop off at the mouth! (No! No, no, no!) I don't pop tags, I pop off at the mouth! (No! No, no, no!) And remove your fucking shoes when you step in my house (Huh! Huh! Huh! Huh!) (Yeah, dope.) Gaddafi shades make it real hard to find a date Fuck her right-away! I strut in traffic, I might be late Find a way. Tell me my shit is fresh, what you trying to say? Who cares? I'm in the same rude-wear since '98 True shit, I'm busting great moves in the same shoes How you staying smooth wearing motherfuckin' slave jewels Fake crews, fabric is real, people counterfeit On the day the casket is sealed, it ain't worth announcing shit! Stop the crap. The only time I'm poppin' tags is when I'm cut a hole into a motherfuckin' stock in half Got my bags, walking out the designer store, loaded with a box of swag! Multitask, I can smoke and fight and dab I'm a dad. (?) Get off at the next stop, take the shit you just cop And I will take the CEO and put him in a sweatshop Yell out: 'trash talk!', and I'm dishing it loud (Come up on the catwalk and I piss in the crowd) I don't pop tags, I pop off at the mouth (No! No, no, no!) I don't pop tags, I pop off at the mouth! (No! No, no, no!) I don't pop tags, I pop off at the mouth! (No! No, no, no!) Clear thirty kicks and they're square in your couch (Fresh. To. Death.) (Strange Famous!)
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