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Masters Of Illusion – We All Over lyrics

[Keith] kept in time at jail, robbery for six years

[M. Man] you missed out on hella money, food, weed and beer

[Keith] called home, stupid jacky never answer the phone

[Keith] what you been doin'

[M. Man] trying to concentrate on come-ups


[M. Man] we all over

[Keith] takin' over

[M. Man] mic controller

[Keith] high rollers

[M. Man] north, east, south, west coast

[Keith] throwin' bombs at you

(Repeat 3X)

[Motion Man]

I threw the gat in the bac of his 'ac

I wore gloves so my fingers wouldn't make contact

It's either that or do time for this? Snatch

F' that! Partner take the rapper watch yo back

And he's back, who's that, cadillac all black yo that's my folks

Young motion getting out with his yolks

Changing channels? Switching up to sopranos when they see us

Got'em caught up in a corner like fetus

Pop the trunk get yo stuff out switch the cars and move fast

Make 'em walk the plank the pirate's out here holding his shank

You don't understand the time that you're doing for me

Just incase in clifton santiago out here for free

Whoa don't tell your partner we got to get it together

No more domestic import people stuck out there in customs

I don't trust a motha' bout as far as I can chuck 'em

His bodyguard looks familiar, I'm recognizing the scar

Officers got us at gunpoint, they searchin' the car

Two chinese men trying to launder 'bout 500 grand

They homosexuals, I leave the male pimp in the stand

United states government officials look for the man

Santiago's got his pictures up in the post office

'cuz santiago is a?

Last seen selling hash north, east, south west coast

(Chorus 4X)

[Kool Keith]

I went to ralph's bought me chicken, my girl some spam

Drove in the block with a green fleetwood broham

Gold dayton rims with the diamonds on the edge and trims

Trunk full of heroine checkin' out the merroine

Two shotguns, grenades, rockets stashed under the seat

L. A. P. D. Took my license, but can't see me

Tinted windows, big powder, here's for your nose

Straight from miami, columbian, puerto rico

Immigrant right hand man nicknamed chico

Jamaican posse at the house drinkin' carlo's? Rossi?

Carbine 41 shot banana clip machine gun

Duffel bags, work my cuban west indian shirt

Callin' the feds up with private numbers tryin' to network

Official numbers in the stash glove compartment

Countin' bricks with incense in an empty apartment

Up on the fourth floor with lactose mixin' raw

Answer the door, stand behind it with a 44

Some sucka named rell, kid rung the wrong bell

Shut up iesha! This girl tryin to blow my spot

I gotta babysit I'm chillin' yo the block is hot

Transfer my ammo, throw techs in a hefty bag

Hit the street, I talk of sales when I meet

(Chorus 4X)

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