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I see I'm peeking out ready to rumble So now I'm speaking out Against those that flip the way the story goes One never knows Who be flippin' the script whatever the traitors name My aim is dunk 'em like, I'm Chris Webber So many phony smilin' faces Traces of slander got 'em comin' outta funny places I had it an' hear 'em talkin' loud behind my back What was good for the hood ts what they say is wack I take the stabbin' and grin then I'm hit 'Cause I know the suckas smile when I leave 'em, what I'm comin' wit I can't complain about the money, although the suckas in the back They talkin' shit an' laughin' like it's somethin' funny I aim to make changes an' never change unless its for the better 'Cause I always been a go better, clean hustler Rhyme instead of muscle ya Born when ya thinkin' I'm gone The terror era is on I stand accused to the crews, I paid my dues I stand accused, I refuse to stand and lose I stand accused to the news I kick the blues I stand accused, I refuse I hear 'em talkin' and walkin' behind my back I'm attacked Fuck the knife in the back 'cause it feels like they got an ax Yeah, I can dig it wit a shovel, I never dig dirt wit the devil Instead I'm on that other level But I took time to reach down to help the black and brown I never stood around, I hear 'em talkin' behind my mind In a ocean of sharks and a back full a hack marks They say I'm fallin' off, yeah, they better call it off And get muscle and find another hustle quick Sick n' tired of critics but I can take a hit I'm all man alley oopin' the vocal on jams But they don't know it they can blow it And take a puff of dis joint, I see I'm kissin' it off the cuff Behind the back, I'm pullin' axes and blades out the arms and the legs Still my fellas get paid the terror era is on Fuck a critic, fuck, fuck a critic, all the fuckin' critics Can get the did it, all a fuckin' critic does is Draw a fuckin' line cross a line and dis my rhyme And then they ass is mine, if you find a critic dead Remember what I said, "Who killed a critic?" Guess the crew did it, day paybacks a crazy ass message Sent to the writers who criticize they're fuckin' wit a freedom fighter Who raises flags and dragged the Klan in body bags I hung 'em up in Mississippi and bum fuck This is Chuck so what the hell, you think I did it for To open doors from Carolina to Arkansas And lemme let 'em, I met 'em, I told my boys forget 'em An' what they did got rid of me, negative But 94 got stunts and blunts in the mix I hear the crowd fallin' Vic to old ghetto tricks But if I wasn't your cousin, wed leave 'em in the dozens Of sellin' out and bellin' out, half pint 40 ounce Announce to the rest we had a fall out I never took a drink, never took a hit or bribe Or got spread by what a silly rumor said, never sang or gang banged Sold out or rented hip hop 'cause I know when to stop