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iLL Factor!
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For the renegade productions contest, ill factor. soundclick.com/renegadeproductions Contest can be found here : http://blog.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.view&friendID=79990723&blogID=198451512&MyToken=0058d716-906a-40eb-998a-bf27d7fb54b
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Song Info
Genre
Hip-Hop New School
Charts
Peak #2,928
Peak in subgenre #277
Uploaded
December 05, 2006
Track Files
MP3
MP3 3.0 MB 128 kbps 3:18
Lyrics
Third eye an animal trapped in between snares The dude who kills rappers with the black hair Tan skin hazel eyes, the one who made'em die they ratem high ya you know the guy stays fly Renegade productions produced the beat Ill Factor, Yeah produced the heat for the street, Was sonnin dumb kids, you just lunch son Name third but im still coming out number one Challengin me is a tragedy, Didnt ya hear? Theres a billion better ways to end ya career You gon flop, you not hot, you done dawg Im the man in the house why bitches on top Car commercial sound, you like everyone else Heaven flow, with music its heaven he dealt, Or possibly ill sell you death with my battle raps You mad at the fact that you wack T-H-I-R-D E-Y-E thats who you cant be third eye Spittin flames n ripping lames, sptting game to filthy dames wit no shame while switchin lanes Cut blind raps, and let the better of the braille talk, While I put anthrax infested ink in your mail box What you actin hard for, my cock startle whores So verse a tile, while im writing on marble floor Probably missed the wordplay, rewind back GO check the past bars and have a time lapse And realize you rhyme wack, in ya time span Of three to five minutes your tracks rhymes are bad I bet you aitn never heard, someone so sure To expose the herbs, with his miracolous verbs Im the best at this, the tech spit and leave you Dead in ya tracks, like trains with dead engine Leave ya holdin ya chest, wit holes in ya vest This is a movie, and renegades always the best T-H-I-R-D E-Y-E thats who you cant be third eye these dudes is hatin and its so frusturating Im just tryna do me like chronic masturbation Ya you got your little laughs in what happened Said when you saw me you was gonna clap it I thought you was realer then pamelas breast Untill we decided to test, you fake like the rest Im from miami, im used to summer weather I know it wasnt hot, so many dudes are better Why you wasting my time, you rappins a crime Talkin about girls but you dont know a dimes Unless we talkin about droppin one in court Whatever though fuck that im sonnin whores, Im the best on the beat like a racist cop Im the best, and faggot dudes always hate the top Third he aint carin, the heat stay blarin I end lives at 16 bars like Teenage Parents
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