| Psss… yeah…
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| It’s about time served y’all bitch ass niggas
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| Y’knahmsayin? |
| Tired of ya’ll bitch ass niggas everywhere
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| (Yeah nigga, Daz and Kurupt)
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| 187 killin', everyday all day
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| I’m comin out!
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| Niggas you better come strapped with some tactics to get back
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| Or get capped, the back slap, or laid flat
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| Swift as a cheetah when them thangs comin' to greet you in the dark
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| I won’t mislead you when you seein' the sparks
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| Dustin' off brand motherfuckers who start ruckus
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| Can’t touch us, me and my homies reply wit fuckers
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| Me and my dogg’s blast with intentions, leavin' y’all missing in action
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| Bitch ass, sorry ass bastards
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| Heartless, senseless coward I was born to devauer
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| Cuts is ours, for all my real niggas behind bars
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| Scarred for life, from the blade of a knife
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| To get strikes at thirteen for takin' your life
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| Seven tec’s, I earn repect, you chin check the rep —
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| Or die when your bitch ass step
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| I take precaution, stalkin' these streets, flossin' and ballin'
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| Keep your hand on your heat, cause we playin' for keeps
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| Real niggas do real thangs in this gangbang life we lead
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| You can’t hang, nigga die and bleed
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| Murder won’t stop 'til every busta and sucka drop
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| Fuck the cops, they stop me from corruptin' the block
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| Rocks blast the Glocks in the weed spot
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| Stop playa hatin' what we got and clock your own knock
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| Grindin', perfectin', and shinin' the fifty-eight carrots of diamonds
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| Blind ya when we come up behind ya
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| Here we are… (here we are)
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| And there they are… (there they are)
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| Gon' get ya, aiyya, aiyya
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| Gon' get ya, aiyya, aiyya
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| My philosophy’s unheard of, I choreographered the murderer
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| My morals are show no mercy and no sorrow
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| Fuedin' and layin' 'em down, forever ready it’s hereditary
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| Layin' 'em down dead up in the mortuary
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| Families mourn, another life is gone
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| Brandish your torn, forty weeks later a soldier is born
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| Enbalm your neighborhood to let me if you could
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| Be a G a you claim to be, let me know if you could
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| We back shootin' up homes and Cadillac’s
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| Don’t ever ever come back, just to show me where it’s at
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| Off the rack comes the gauge —
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| Buck sprays and AK’s retaliate in a major way
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| We in the land where it’s man for man, clan for clan
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| Simple mistakes — you’ll end up dead (say what?)
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| I ride with Crips and dip and dap for the chips
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| Grip the pistol to your brain, never takin' no shit
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| Whether, Heaven or Hell, I gots to prevail
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| Rather die makin' it happen than to die in a cell
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| Rather load up my hollow-point shells for niggas who snitch and tell
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| Leave they bodies with the maggots and snails
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| C’d up, fatigued up… (Criiip!), always G’d up
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| On a mission for my tuition, I need bucks
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| Big dollars… (why?), I jack niggas cause I gotta
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| My kids got enemies now because of they father
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| Smokin', loaded, and fucked up, I ain’t lucked up
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| On some niggas who try to get bucked
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| In the fashion, the blastin', it’s hard to imagine the cash
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| And known niggas who be actin' like bastards
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| What do I do, but call my niggas and my crew
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| To come do what they do, and put in work on you
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| Semi-automatic cause static
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| Static’s inatic of a gun-play, like everyday, all day
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| You want trouble? |
| HA HA, let’s bring it quick, fast
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| And dash and blast up on they bitch ass
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| Adios as his ass got smoked —
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| He provoked the wrong nigga now his ass is ghost…
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| I smoke a blunt and stick my dick in some cunt (uhh!)
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| Cause to me and my homeboy’s ya’ll just some punks, haha
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| Who really want it? |
| Nigga, come get it
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| Slowly but surely, homie you ain’t never forget it
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| How many times I gotta say stop fuckin' with mine
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| Livin' the life of crime where it’s do or die
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| Y’all niggas don’t really want none of this
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| We the shit… blow your fuckin' crew to bits
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| — 3X w/ variations
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| Yeah, pull up on this nigga right here
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| Jump out, serve his ass
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| Boom, give it, get on the ground! |