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I see I'm peeking out ready to rumble
So now I'm speaking out
Against those that flip the way the story goes
One never knows who be flippin' the script

Whatever the traitors name
My aim is dunk 'em like I'm Chris Webber
So many phony smilin' faces, traces of slander
Got 'em comin' outta funny places

I had it an hear 'em
Talkin' 'loud behind my back
What was good for the hood
Is what they say is wack

I take the stabbin' grin when I'm hit
'Cause I know the suckas smile
When I leave 'em, what I'm comin' wit'
I can't complain about the money

Although the suckas in the back
They talkin' shit
And laughin' like it's somethin' funny
I aim to make changes and never change

Unless it's for the better
'Cause I always been a go better
Clean hustler, rhyme instead of muscle ya
Born when ya thinkin' I'm gone

The terror era is on
I stand accused to the crews
I paid my dues, I stand accused
I refuse to stand and lose

I stand accused to the news
I kick da blues, I stand accused
I refuse, I hear 'em talkin' and walkin'
Behind my back I'm attacked

Fuck the knife in the back
'Cause it feels like they got an axe
Yeah, I can dig it wit' a shovel
I never dig dirt wit the Devil

Instead I'm on that other level
But I took time to reach down
To help the black and brown
I never stood around

I hear 'em talkin' behind my mind
In a ocean of sharks
And a back full a hackmarks
They say I'm fallin' off

Yeah, they better call it off
And get muscle
And find another hustle quick
Sick and tired of critics

But I can take a hit, I'm all man
Alley oopin' the vocal on jams
But they don't know it, they can blow it
And take a puff of dis joint

I see I'm kissin' it off the cuff
Behind the back
I'm pullin' axes and blades
Out the arms and the legs

Still my fellas get paid
The terror era is on
Fuck a critic, fuck fuck a critic
All the fuckin' critics

Can get the did dit
All a fuckin' critic does is
Draw a fuckin' line
Cross a line and dis my rhyme

And then they ass is mine
If you find a critic dead
Remember what I said
Who killed a critic

Guess the crew did it
Say paybacks a crazy ass message
Sent to the writers who criticize
They're fuckin' wit' a freedom fighter

Who raises flags
And dragged the klan in bodybags
I hung 'em up in Mississippi and bum fuck
This is Chuck so what the hell

You think I did it for
To open doors from Carolina to Arkansas
And lemme let 'em, I met 'em
I told my boys forget 'em

And what they did got rid of me, negative
But 94 got stunts and blunts in da mix
I hear the crowd fallin' vic
To old ghetto tricks but if I wasn't your cousin

We'd leave 'em in the dozens
Of sellin' out and bellin' out
Half pint forty ounce
Announce to the rest

We had a fall out
I never took a drink
Never took a hit or bribe
Or got spread by what a silly

Rumor said
Never sang or gang banged
Sold out or rented hip hop
'Cause I know when to stop

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