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Artist: 7evenThirty
Album:  Heaven's Computer *
Song:   Where It's At
Typed by: @7evenThirty @MelloMusicGroup


[Verse 1]
New Jack City, not a new jack rapper
Been snappin' in high speed, high definition
It's the Spike Lee 35mm film grit
Full clip
Tarantino violent visions since it's that roughneck rappin'
From the roughest West Jafrican
8 heads heavy in my duffle bag carryin'
Rap beat bumin', got yo back seat jumpin'
Like a nigga in the trunk with his ass beat
Strugglin' to get out
While you struggle to figure this shit out
We some tiger sharks swimmin' and we fishin' bitches out
Never go unspoken when provoked, so if you prone to start it up we gotta finish this shit out
Lord help 'em
Ya all welcome
To come visit me in my city, but not welcome to get out
We spill ya pasta, when we see impostor point 'em out
From the south
Bringin' the heat up out the holster, 'cross yo mouth
[Hook] Them Southside niggas runnin' game to ya spouse
While them Northside niggas put then knuckles to yo mouth
It was them Westside niggas snatched yo ass up out yo house
The M. I. Crooked 'bout the crunkest out the south
So where you at
I told you we'll be back
Still triller than yo average and body baggin' tracks
You tried to run up on 'em, I told you we bustin' back
So who dat
Click clack
It's them boys from the Jack
Where it's at

[Verse 2]
Many more where this hurt come from
I'm just the first one, the worst one
The whole herd come, ya whole earth done
I been throwed
Flip that fire-brimstone scariness
Space Gangsta spit them live rounds out the chariot
Hit you hard enough to leave you with nothing to bury, it's
Ultraterrestrial evidence, I'm in my element
Never ever push that button or pull that lever
Unless you can't help yourself, cause you off of yo effin' medicine
Rep that Sip Hop
For my Jacktown niggas pourin' black Crown liquor, comin' to clap you down quicker
Wit that Crooked Letta slum shit
Might spark a wire fire starter Firewater Boy
Flyer harder crunkness
Vintage Noize niggas takin' everything
Drop that
Welcome to the Jack, son
Where you think we got that
Fuck the rap scene, I like the smell of gasoline
And play with matches for the hell of it
I'm done
Burn the evidence