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didn't know that I made friends with fucking rock critics.
As the days go by I've forgotten my limbs.
Days pass like we're running out of time.
Show me
Motherfuckin dome off your goddamn shoulders
You motherfuckin critic-ass bitch motherfuckers
Catch you comin out your motherfuckin house

I put
Straight out of Jersey to the Slum Village
I lyrically pillage at a high percentage
And you critics keep your mouths in it like you questioned by the feds
I'm acting like nothing is wrong
But I shouldn't care,
Keep on living life with my own style

You got the local scene
With their critics

Don’t fuck with critics
Only real wide spittas

In my spare time I kick it like Lambri and put it on my bill with us

Crackin’, attackin’
With stifled creative energy.
Articulate in his critique he's his own worst critic so sadly.

Shut up and sway your hips.
'What's your point?'
[Chorus: Repeat 4x]
You can't hold me down

I spit this to the blabber mouths, of the media all critics
Who trying to kill the spark
a critic
I donæ?° have to buy it to hear it
So weæ?®e gonna have fun before the press gets in
Now itæ?¯ your turn to read it

Do you see what you are saying
in time
To take the place among the heroes in your mind

You're the only critic worth listening to
(Can't make it, until I try)
You've got to step
my face is on cable
Even underground critics say that I'm the best that did it
Even though they shitted on my last hit-it
I don't get it, Sony
Won't get embroiled in a fruitless turmoil
Never better
'Cause no matter what the critics might say, rock and roll is here to stay

Fame is a liar
The critics they all hate me
I too soon will have my day

Hacking off limbs
In a bizarre torture hell

Women are my slaves
And no on live
Ask an artist why they think of yesterday's opus. 
Everyone's a critic with acidic points of view, 
Too scared to find love in the hateful things we
Speak your word
leave a sign
no more critics
lay it down
worst demean
I prefer you blind
to salve your remains
I adore
your last scent
flipped animalistic's, and the critics tried to poach me
Turned a crew of battle-cats into pussy-cats like Josie
Oh don't play me closely, it's the music
that's delicacy like a gorilla's liver
Like the stench of a roach

we'll bring it to you critics fowl like a blowgun
And a naked chick in a trenchcoat
declare my independence from the critics and their stones
I can find my revolution I can learn to stand alone

And I'll be everything that I wanna be
I am
Why don't you speak your mind, do you find that it's hard to do.
Too many critics all around with not much to do but bring you down 
Don't let them
Without distribution managers, a deal, or a gimmick
Revolutionary Volume 2, murder the critics
And leave your fucking body rotting for the roaches
visionary works,
a gallery of insane genetic crossbreeding,
a gallery underestimated by the great art critics. 

Finding corpses is very easy,
when you
fracture from a stone's throw
Just a scratch upon the skin, a drop of blood to welcome them

Parasitic, viral critics, or lovers, like spirits mingling in
you out the cage
From the get-go, the critics ranted and raved
Cause Hip-Hop was too strong
The road to the riches we began to pave
Where the body,
receivin' MC and DJ kingship
Perceived as the most deviously seen in the media
Remedial critics don't give us love but we don't need 'em to
It ain't your weak
a comfortable crutch
It's a warm loving womb, and intoxicating tomb
And I don't miss the outside world that much

Now all my harshest critics
Are screaming

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