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7eventhirty - where it's at lyrics

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[verse 1] new jack city, not a new jack rapper/ been snappin’ in high speed, high definition/ it’s the spike lee 35mm film grit/ full clip/ tarantino violent visions since it’s that roughneck rappin’/ from the roughest west jafrican/ 8 heads heavy in my duffle bag carryin’/ rap beat b-min’, got yo back seat jumpin’/ like a n-gga in the trunk with his -ss beat/ strugglin’ to get out/ while you struggle to figure this sh-t out/ we some tiger sharks swimmin’ and we fishin’ b-tches out/ never go unspoken when provoked, so if you pr-ne to start it up we gotta finish this sh-t out/ lord help ‘em/ ya all welcome/ to come visit me in my city, but not welcome to get out/ we spill ya pasta, when we see impostor point ‘em out/ from the south/ bringin’ the heat up out the holster, ‘cross yo mouth
[hook] them southside n-ggas runnin’ game to ya spouse/ while them northside n-ggas put then knuckles to yo mouth/ it was them westside n-ggas sn-tched yo -ss up out yo house/ the m. i. crooked ‘bout the crunkest out the south/ so where you at/ i told you we’ll be back/ still triller than yo average and body baggin’ tracks/ you tried to run up on ‘em, i told you we bustin’ back/ so who dat/ click clack/ it’s them boys from the jack/ where it’s at

[verse 2] many more where this hurt come from/ i’m just the first one, the worst one/ the whole herd come, ya whole earth done/ i been throwed/ flip that fire-brimstone scariness/ sp-ce gangsta spit them live rounds out the chariot/ hit you hard enough to leave you with nothing to bury, it’s/ ultraterrestrial evidence, i’m in my element/ never ever push that b-tton or pull that lever/ unless you can’t help yourself, cause you off of yo effin’ medicine/ rep that sip hop/ for my jacktown n-ggas pourin’ black crown liquor, comin’ to clap you down quicker/ wit that crooked letta slum sh-t/ might spark a wire fire starter firewater boy/ flyer harder crunkness/ vintage noize n-ggas takin’ everything/ drop that/ welcome to the jack, son/ where you think we got that/ f-ck the rap scene, i like the smell of gasoline/ and play with matches for the h-ll of it/ i’m done/ burn the evidence

[hook]



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