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Shout Out To Lost Boyz

This song is by Canibus.

(DJ Clue)
Yeah, DJ clue, desert storm, all up in ya area
With the lb fam, love peace and nappiness
A little sample, but first...
My man canibus, gon' rip shit down, ha ha

Yo, yo, yo
Lost Boyz the beasts from the east up in this piece
With a new release on the streets every fifty-two weeks
And I dare a nigga to challenge us; I turn the
'Love, Peace and Nappiness' into your blood on a napkin in the ambulance
Fucking with the nigga called Canibus, just the sound
Of my voice'll give you a positive urine analysis
I'm a lyrical demon, stronger than crack fiends
That smoke two p's with a c in between em
LB fam, making the music niggaz dance to
And we sip a very substantial amount of Jack Daniels
L-o-est, b-o-y-z we lock shit
We invested all of legal drug money profit
Showin love to each and every nigga that copped it
In they Jeep, Lex Coupe, Beema or Benz knocking it
Music making you high, giving you that urge
To spend two-thirds of the money you earned on herb
You're fuckin' with the lb fam, we do what we gotta do
You never get the chance to shoot back at who shot at you
Nigga, you'll be dead before you reach the hospital
Looking at you laying there with blood coming out your nostrils
Queens most wanted, quick to clap a nigga
Rap at killers who wear carharts and caterpillars
Toting the four-pound, holding the fort down
Before heavy d bounced to uptown became a ghost town
Cheeks, Lou and Thai see eye to eye
Spig sees eye to thigh, being the shortest
But he still gets busy on the one and two's regardless
Heard about the clue tape, so I had to get on it
Lost Boyz and desert storm, show us the money
'Cause we still hungry, we still got the growl in the tummy
We still grimy and grungy, dressing bummy
Doin' shows for foreign currencies in other countries

Trying to finance me a Humvee with low mufflage
Get a production deal, start our own record companies
Sign our own acts and rhyme about whatever we wanna rap
Decorate our walls with plaques
Summertime '89 or better degree weather
'97 DJ Clue and LB fam forever

(DJ Clue)
What? DJ Clue, all up in ya area

Yo yo yo hold up I don't think niggaz know man
I'm gonna rock some more, check it out, yo, yo

Now just by watching you, I can tell that I got you
To face me, something you don't wanna do, my rhymes
Are too hostile, they'll beat you down in public like the cops do
Sit on top of you, make a human piñata out of you
Flow as potent as possible, creating obstacles three feet
High and rising, like the chronicles of Posdonus
The old school Hip Hop is where I get my style from
Uptown Harlem, is where I get my lye from
My cousin with mad guns, is where I get the nines from
Area 51 is where I be getting rhymes from
I'm not a human being
I'm the human being ill with a IQ that's off the scale
If words could kill, a verse of mine'll murder a mill
And emcees will be gnashing they teeth, burning in Hell
I'm learning to be the head instead of the tail
I ain't following nobody else to increase my sales
Metaphors are real, like they been forged in steel
Stood before the judge told him I was forced to kill
And how I went for mines to get 'Paid in Full'
Then I went for minds again and ripped 'em out of niggaz skulls
The nigga on the block with the biggest balls, laying niggaz
On the floor, robbing them too a Biggie Smalls song
"Turn your head round," give me the cheddar
I'd rather be a lion for a day than a lamb who lives forever
"Turn your head round," give me the cheddar
I'd rather be a lion for a day than a lamb who lives forever *echoes*

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