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Correct Murda Mook Vs. Party Arty Lyrics
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Correct Murda Mook Vs. Party Arty
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[Round 1: Party Arty] Mooky, ya bars is wack and ya lingo But I ain't Puff, I ain't dance to jingles I'll pop ya top like a can of Pringles You don't really want the god to lose it Cause I'm a nigga with the heart to do it I'm in the kitchen like Martha Stewart When I spark the Rugers, I Can't Lose like Parker Lewis When I was in Rikers, you was in diapers I was in ciphers rhymin' wit' lifers You was at home, tryin' to get tighter Rhymin' off beat, I was poppin' off heat Yeah, you reppin' ya crew, steppin' to who? I don't eat pussy but I'll make an exception for you Pussy, niggas know what the weapon will do You ain't nice cause you the best in ya crew Don't gas him, I told Gatson You beatin' me? Is like Eminem fuckin' wit' black chicks, it won't happen Dude, you not a boss, I pop brews I don't gotta floss I drop jewels (Jews) like the Holocaust I got tools like construction workers And I wanna see ya boss cause I don't fuck wit' workers To each his own, I keep the chrome to reach ya dome This nigga is so ugly who should've battled on the speaker phone Cause I don't wanna see his face Easy man [Round 1: Murda Mook] These lame niggas act invincible, until the kid slam on him like Vince'll do I never knew sensible My cake good and I been great with Math, shit [?] every class, I'm the principle Y'all niggas minuscule, what I got intent to prove? Okay, yeah I'm a fool cause I finished school Shit is cool, all the hatin' and the dissin' cause listen When this is finished y'all be payin' my tuition See, I beat the system, I'm a crook wit' a degree He a messenger, he still think Booker T is a wrestler I got packages, look what I sent you The kid finish lead like I wrote a book with a pencil You a simp too, talkin' 'bout how he tag and toss 'em We know damn well he Snuggle like the fabric softener Some niggas get hype with they people Start actin' tough til they be hooked to machines that sound like trucks backin' up Listen here, this rappin' stuff, like rippin' a wet napkin up I'm 'bout my bucks, I'm also like Quack the Daffy Duck And I don't need cash to be out on the road Cause I could charge like I'm goin' to the hole outta control Every week a hundred stacks Tell me, who runnin' at this bitch like a pimp? I pop her and she always comin' back I be in many places chillin', not playin' the villain, until niggas get to grillin' And when I get that feelin' Like they gon' run up behind and take what's mine That's when I pull out a nine and pop they spine You ain't hype, nah you calm cause you feel it But Arty, ya days up like a calendar And he never slung crack, he was too dumb for that He's glad them days is over, he was made to doja Nigga told him to "add baking soda", right? He let the shit bake in soda Murda Mook done got rid of more weight than Oprah When the can' approach ya, he'll fold like a bad hand in poker You a joker, I don't know why you wanna run ya mouth When ya guns are bleach stained, Arty it's never comin' out And I don't care if he don't die when I pop him His moms still gon' cover his corpse cause his fuckin' Medicaid can't cover the cost That'll end all them hype days You ain't alarmin' me, and this is not a pharmacy when I have you searchin' for the right (Rite) Aid Are you okay? This person will carve you The pump will leave you wide open, I guess he felt it wasn't worth it to guard you I'm a motherfuckin' savage holmes My bars shatter bones, leavin' him astray like he followin' a rabbit home Don't test me kid, cause if I don't have a chrome I'ma grab a phone and do it like Joe Pesci did Or you can get a million cuts from knife Took advice from my niggas in Coney Island; Fuck ya life Lacin' ya Jordans is the only time he touch the mic (Mike) And I hope ya wife not in here, cause if she is, I'ma fuck tonight And it's obvious who better between us He could tell who gon' win by the names if he never had seen us He a diva, get steamed up or do like that Hammer Dance I'll break ya fuckin' legs for thinkin' you had a chance Quit, before you get hit wit' the fuckin' chrome Your swing knock one out the park how fast we seen him runnin' home I'm in the zone, wanna stop these hits? I'ma pop these clips Too bad he can't save his life on a floppy disc Easy! [Round 2: Party Arty]
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