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Pravda
by
Your Old Droog
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We like Isaiah Thomas and Joe Dumars You don't want no fuma Actin' tough, you goops Harold and Kumar Been jackin' too hard, I'm looking at these rappers like Doc Umar looking at your white gumar You mad they recognize my brilliance, spending tens of millions Must be graffiti writers, way you in your feelings Don't a minute go by your man is not complaining All he do is f**k up the bag like boxers training Got restraint, ain't worried 'bout nobody hating That's like the dude cursing at the sky for raining Can't stop YOD, you can only try and contain him Consumers see the difference when the product came in Your boy put a lot of pain in End of the day, still acknowledge that it's entertainment Who shot ya? Separatе the heat from Sriracha Peoplе watcher, I see the geek in your posture They be like "How you living тварь I say "прекрасно" Peace to Sasha, now у нас новая тачка Old Russians in the spot, off a fifth of Vodka Have one of my dogs, come flip you like a lodka So we exposed these hassas, oh we got to f**k you and your phony patois, brody [?] And your b*t*h, who she think she is? Patra? pu**yclot тачка. Блядство Yo I heard this hot head frontin' like he top shotta Got bread but you dusty like ciabatta Think you bright but I know somebody smarter With an OCD mother and a musician father YOD, I been this way since cats been wearing Pradas Drop the hammer on the propaganda, all you hear is "Pravda"
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