| Had pistols in my hands, had pockets full of Ox
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| Whole life I been a G, had bitches on the block
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| Had strippers on the pole, had cocaine in the pot
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| Got fiends at the do' so I turned that to a rock
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| That yay yay
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| That yay yay
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| I’m a drug dealin' nigga, cause them grades ain’t get me paid
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| My agenda for today is to make bread or get laid
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| See my daughter need some shoes and my mom work overtime
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| So I’m standin' by that stop sign with nickels and them dimes
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| Keep that work, got that Oxy, need that kilo, call that papi
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| Know my steelo, shrimp with sake, sold that hero’n, look like toffee
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| Keep my nina, just might off him, no them boys on Figg don’t play
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| Most my life on 51st, went to school on 52nd
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| Used to fight on 49th, Grandma said be home by night
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| But her old ass sixty something, so three hours late aiight
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| Still I love her, R.I.P., when she died, I took her place
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| And became a fucking G, moved my crack across the street
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| Figg get it, get it yeah
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| Drug dealin' nigga
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| Yawk yawk yawk
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| I’m a drug dealin' nigga, roll my cyc' on Hoover’s street
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| Just a year after Pac died we all bump Suga Free
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| Didn’t know what he was sayin' til them years done jumped to three
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| Learned the game, slangin' hoes and every car door need a key
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| Charge them smokers day through night, sellin' pies who need a slice
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| Life is craps so shoot the dice, get the cheese but cut the mice
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| Enemies be left to right, we don’t call our shit the trap
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| Bitch we call our shit the set, unless we OD with Reynold’s Wrap
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| After crack it’s Oxy next, but thank God the yay was yay
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| Off the yee like it’s the bay, rock a chain I’m Kunta K
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| Out in Texas what’s the word, keep them packs and that’s for sure
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| Slang to him and slang to her, ask a fiend they will concur |