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skillz – move ya body (acappella) lyrics

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on the real, i freak techniques and beats in my sleep
the mack back in action show sk!lls when i speak
watch my + leak when i bring it to your face
i still corner dimes, but in the nine i’m on a paper chase
glass rocks, mega tops, tims on your block
holding heat like crock pots and keeping g’s in my socks
(so, what’s up, hopps?)
i got to keep it tight like seams
cause ain’t no fiends
coming in between me and my dreams
see what i mean, black?
i keep it real like that
f a “word is bond”
i need stocks and bonds from these ill raps
rappers won’t see me with contacts, friend
so, please act you’ve got a siamese twin and think again
cause in thе end i start off with flavor
next to bless your chеst with freestyle fantasia
smooth behavior
seeing rappers as illusions
meaning they disappear but i’m hear to keep you moving

chorus:
everybody, move ya body!
everybody, move ya body!
everybody, move ya body!
i don’t think twice, kid
you know i bring it to ya live
(repeat)
see, i don’t get writer’s block
yo, i block other writers
and there’s been nights i had to wear sniper attire for biters
don’t make that same mistake and get scarred, r+t+rd
i see that tape you listening to got you thinking that you hard
but dig this…
cut your hair and get your name on your stomach
i still find ways to make your whole rap career plummet
maintain
i steal mics out of the frame
but now people think they know me cause they know my real name
while i stay same
doing shows and tours
somewhere in a phat whip playing sega in the dashboard
styles of sword(?) and flowing steadily
trapping mcs in mazes forever like frankie beverly
you know the st++ze
i’m bringing beats to they knees
holacausting mcs and sees some g’s before i breath
that’s how it be
it’s no doubt that i
got to bring it to your chest as i bring it to ya live

chorus

so, from this point on until the day that they bury me
i’ll still be on a hunt trying to sn+tch this currency
putting my peeps on while friends turn fake
they get p+ssed thinking i be in switzerland checking some real estate
dropping lps every year
somewhere in a mansion with a butler named vincent jeffrey belvadere
i’m rare
but, rappers ain’t trying to hear
the reason why their girl freestyled her number in my ear
it’s my year, son, and i ain’t trying to slip
i’m trying to collect props and get not(?) to stretch money clips
honey+dips
i keep ’em on like low end
so, f five+o
illegal, so we don’t got to go there
it’s so unfair
how i do wack crews shady
they want to be next up
their style sucks like a new baby
they can’t faze me
mics and man fusion
beats i keep bruising
do your thing and keep moving
chorus
(repeat twice)



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