Certified Dope

(Intro)

Yeah

One, two

One, two

One, two

Yeah

One, two

One, two

One, two

Aight look

Yeah

(Verse 1)

Anybody think they can't test the bol, prolly

Word bond, this is the best, that Sean Connery

We pure, come from the chest of Bob Marley

Abstain from the ways of the flesh, that's not godly

Cube started out on the west with my posse

No pork I don't put mess in my body

Bullets gonna rip through the vest like hot saki

Always gonna give you the best, but not Robby

Everything herb and liquor like hot toddy

We gon' trick 31 like Rob Zombie

You can't control the drum, you rock sloppy

I don't play second fiddle, I'm not Scottie

If Vinnie gonna spray the block, he rock shotty

The .45 caliber kick and stop Roddy's

Weisenthal loaded the clip and shot Nazis

Now to rhyme, made a decision and shot Ghandi

(Chorus: Eamon)

Please don't make me feel like I gotta bust a shot. Hoo!

(One two) Shot

(Yeah, yeah)

Please don't make me feel like I gotta cock this nine. Hoo!

(One two) Nine

Hah hah

(Verse 2)

There's no choice wielding here, salute Generals

Cops trying to get him on lock to boost Federal

They said Vinnie one of the best but too technical

When I tried slowin' it down it's too sensical

The covenant dark in the soul, the Blue Sentinal

Call this little 9 a dime and shoot ten at you

The mark that we made in the game, too indelible

God made dirt, and dirt produce vegetables

My heart pumps, runnin' the lane, you move minimal

It's octopus slums so beware a few tentacles

The rhyme too fine and the wine too delectable

My voice wave stronger than yours, it move decibals

Manowar making it loud and move decibal

The snare don't knock and the kick is too minimal

Sayin' that you're better than dirt is too literal

Straight left over the jab induce medical

Muerte

(Chorus: Eamon)

Please don't make me feel like I gotta bust a shot. Hoo!

(One two) Shot

Please don't make me feel like I gotta cock this nine. Hoo!

(One two) Nine

Hah hah

(outro)

Yeah

Stoupe what up