[Verse 1: Ab-Soul]Right on my tongue, lookYo, check, my flow is unknown to man yetDammit, keep running around like an annual banquetMade a withdrawal with your broad, she left the bank wetRub her like a condom contemplating dangerous sexI'm unimpressed with your talent, skill still appealA maestro on the mic though, I'm almost ill as Camille for realAin't never runnin' from nothin', I'm fit to
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