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People self accomodating shear strain

[Verse 1: Black Thought] 500 horses, Panamera Porsches Sharpshooter, like I'm in the U. Armed Forces I turn emcees to corpses, sons to orphans I turn the mics on and burn rappers like crosses I'm high-voltage, cash from undisclosed sources Choppin' it up with other bosses on that closed door shit It's Black Star quality, rap star salary Do it for my city, let me know if ya'll proud of me How I paint the picture like Diego Rivera Easier than puttin' two pieces of Lego together On point like an infrared laser Beretta What I'm bringing to these rappers is a major vendetta It's the end of your era, my dimension is terror Family thinking they should have an intervention, you better A lot of niggas in the game, none of them can do better Money making trendsetters, you will never forget us [Verse 2: Truck North] North side terrorize the bar From the lifestyle that most try to get involved I represent the money making jam superstars It's what it's like when your yacht comes with a car Weed in the wind, livin' on the fringe 'Round here we call this some twenty-twen-twen My chemical romance is like a coke binge Award tour with your best broad and back again Word, now she's the envy of all her friends Me and my mans tag-team, whoomp there it is It's all proper biz', what's more hot than this Put a sucker emcee in a sarcophagus Couple shots of the twist get a nigga bent Grab the microphone, cold mollywhop the bitch Black Shakespeare, the words I invent It's like Cape Fear, whenever I'm here [DJ Jazzy Jeff and Black Thought: Scratch Interlude] 500 [x7] I got 5 [hunna'] Horses [Verse 3: S. S.] Couple hundred dollars for the tag on the waistline Blowing money fast just to brag on the bass line Deep water, Slim, you gotta swim past the safe line Outskirt livin', house sittin' on the state line Yeah, I talk money while I make mine, grapevine Twist a lime spritzer, or a white wine Night time arenas keep a schedule like [themers? M And then I close my coffin like Dracula My thoughts' complex like the engines on an Acura My dick starts about as simple as a sling shot My foot starts about as simple as high top My nasty Gucci John, eleven-and-a-half I kick you in your face, then put it up your ass Then throw you in the trash, like Chinese take-out Then hit your girl with that old 52 fake out Then my smile looks up like the Joker's face Nickname, Mr.