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Chris Webby - Get from round

Uh, yessir
It's Chris Webby
2-0-3, where you at?
Ha-ha, yeah

Get from out of my vicinity, listen see
This is the, dude who be flyer than a Griffin be
Sippin' tea, gettin' my voice right to strike out willingly
Ready for the game, already had my epiphany
Now who could get rid of me, I show no sympathy
When I hit the track I make 'em jump like Jiminy
Cricket, and b*tches be bewildered by my wizardry
And opponents be gettin' Michael J. Fox jittery
Can't tell if I'm dreamin', somebody start pinchin' me
How do I keep killin' these critics with my similes
Metaphors, I'm the Megazord, y'all feelin' me
I'll rap from now until you count to infinity
Flow art like Mozart, conducting my symphony
Hold it down on stage with my main man Timothy
Simply a pothead, I am the epitome
But I am who I am and nobody could reconfigure me
Yeah, you think there was ten of me, the way I crush my enemies
A guaranteed recipe for disaster, come step to me
Generally, you don't even know how potent my venom be
I'm handsome, young and in charge like John Kennedy
There is no discrepancy, I'm illy with my weaponry
I got the front row at the theater, no one's ahead of me
I'm losin' it mentally, but flowin' it deadly
So, who here could measure me, cos you know who Webby be
And just know that Webby be, readily rollin' up that heady tree
Smokin til I'm 70, get at me
And I'm spittin' it fatal, on demand like digital cable
Make heads spin like a Dreidel
I am able, and mad nice, so b*tch you better act right
Cause steppin' to me is like seeing Clay Aiken and Shaq fight
Hit 'em so hard that I'll knock 'em to their past life
Even though I'm white enough to glow in front of black lights
That's right, I am the best you can't mess bro
Nike Kicks, wardrobe fresh from Mark Echo
Let's go, blazin' the sh*t, got haze in the spliff
B*tch, I'm number one like I'm takin' a piss
But I spit out number two cause what I say is the sh*t
B*tch, I'm hungry in the game I need a table for six
There's no evasion from this, cause I'ma leave them on the floor dead
Cause y'all are about as hard as an infant's forehead
I run this sh*t 'til I got sore legs, I need a stretch
Hip-Hop chea pet, livin' off of weed and sex
Line 'em all up, I'll knock 'em down, I can beat the best
Now I need a breath, I need a rest

Ha-ha, that's just how it is baby
It's bars all day, I just drop bars
Whatever hobby, we goin' to the top, baby

Get from round me [x4]

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