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[Verse One: Notorious, Meth]

I used to get feels on a b—h
Now I throw shields on the d–k
To stop me from that HIV s–t
And n—-z know they soft like a Twinkie filling
Playin the villian
Prepare for this rap killin
Biggie Smalls is the illest
Your style is played out, like Arnold wondered
“What you talkin bout Willis?”

The thrill is gone, the black Frank White
is here to excite and
throw d–k to d—s
B—–s I like em brainless
Guns I like em stainless steel
I want the f–kin Fortune like the Wheel
I squeeze gats till my clips is empty
Don’t tempt me (T-H-O-D Man)
You don’t want to f–k with Biggie

Here I am, I’ll be damned if this ain’t some s–t
Come to spread the butter lyrics over hominy grit
It’s the low killer death trap, yes I’m a jet black ninja
Comin where you rest at, surrender
Step inside the ring, youse the number one contender
Lookin cold booty like your p—y in December
N—a stop b—hin, button up ya lip and
From Method all you gettin is a can of a-s-whippin
Hey, I’ll be kickin, you son, you doin all the yappin
Actin as if it can’t happen
You front and got me mad enough to touch somethin
Yo I’m from Shaolin, Island, and ain’t afraid to bust somethin
So what cha want n—a, ya punk n—a
I got a six-shooter and a horse named Trigger
It’s real, ninety-four, rugged raw
Kickin down your god damn door (and it goes a lil somethin like this)


F–k the world, don’t ask me for s–t
And everything you get ya gotta work hard fot it
Honies shake your hips, ya don’t stop
And n—-z pack the clips, keep on

[Verse Two: Meth, Notorious]

Verse two, comin with that Olde E brew
Meth-tical, puttin n—-z back in I.C.U.
I’m lifted troop, you can bring yours wack a-s crew
I got connections, I’ll get that a-s stuck like glue, huh
No question, I be comin down and s–t
Yo I gets rugged as a motherf–kin carpet get
And n—-z love it, not in the physical form but in the mental
I spark and they cells get warm
I’m not a gentle, man, I’m a Method, Man!
Baby accept it, utmost respect it
(Assume the position) Stop look and listen
I spit on your grave then I grab my Charles Dickens

Welcome to my center
Honies feel it deep in they placenta
Cold as the pole in the winter
Far from the inventor, but I got this rap s–t sewed
And when my Mac unloads
I’m guaranteed another video
Ready to die, why I act that way?
Pop Duke left Mom Duke
The f—-t took the back way
So instead of makin h–s suck my d–k up
I used to do stick-up
Cause h–s is irritatin like the hic-CUPS
Excuse me, flows just grow through me
Like trees to branches
Cliffs to avalanches
It’s the praying mantis
Deep like the mind of Farrakhan
A motherf–kin rap phenomenon, plus

(I got more glocks and techs than you)
I make it hot (N—a won’t even stand next to you)
N—a touch me you better bust me
tree times in the head
Or motherf–ker’s dead, ya thought so

[Chorus: repeat 2X]
The manuscript Blue Lines is the fictional coming of age narrative of a young California woman Key Yemaya Walker, and her 2 year growing journey through school, love, and life period piece, written by Kenneth Suffern, Jr., taking place at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill between the years of 1997 – 1998. Loosely based on true events, and experiences during that time, told through the eyes and voice of the main female protagonist, a freshman first attending the school.