| Who you are
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| One nation under a thug and bullet scar
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| Young nation, no revolution and no cause
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| One nation, young black and dangerous by far
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| Young nation just tryin' to get this
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| Murderous mind state, can’t keep my 9 straight
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| Sippin' on this Hennessy, waitin' for the time to break
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| Show up and motherfuckers bow down, recognize
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| Westside, Death Row, Outlaw ridaz
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| Untouchable mob of pistol packers
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| Well-known felons, labelled for drug-sellin' merciless jackers
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| Forever buzzed, roll with thugs and dogs
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| Commence to lettin' off rounds then escape in the fog
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| Who wanna see me solo? |
| Catch Makaveli while he’s sleepin'
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| My Mini-14 murderin' niggas while they creepin'
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| Uh, duck or you ass out, drink 'til you pass out
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| Ain’t scared to die, drunk drivin' in my glasshouse
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| Niggas is under me, they bitches come to me
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| They heard the stories, nigga, now they wanna really see
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| «Bomb first» my motto, it’s fully guaranteed
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| Niggas is playa haters, label them my enemies—I'm dumpin'
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| Who you are
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| One nation under a thug and bullet scar
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| Young nation, no revolution and no cause
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| One nation, young black and dangerous by far
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| Young nation just tryin' to get this
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| When it’s on, I’m poppin' off every chance I get
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| Out the window on some «Uptown Anthem» shit
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| I’m stressin', but ain’t no pressure here, I been here before
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| Fugitive, task force at my girlfriend door
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| Now they checkin' in her bedroom, I ain’t there
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| .40 cal’s, extended clips, still I ain’t scared
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| Outlaw and best believe they won’t take me alive
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| I’m different and I’ma prove it if it take me to die
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| Knew that God had a plan for me
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| But he won’t be layin' up in my casket or doin' life in the can for me
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| Maybe I’m breezy or paranoid than a bitch
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| Me dyin'—you think I’d let them see the joy from that shit?
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| Walkin' dead, angels spend they last days by me
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| New Jersey giant like Dave Tyree
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| Young George and Jonathan Jatt
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| Your guns clap, mine’ll go brraaatt, soldier like Geronimo Pratt
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| And come through cockin' the black pound
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| When they put the Twin Towers up, Pac, I’m knockin' them back down
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| Poster child—cheque!
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| Air Force Ones with the crocodile checks, I’m supposed to wild sex
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| Money and murder is all I breathe in my life
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| It’s full of judges and chasin' enemies in the night
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| Through the Henny I see the eyes of the Devil
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| G ridin' with extra boxes of bullets to the 9 and the shovel
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| Who you are
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| One nation under a thug and bullet scar
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| Young nation, no revolution and no cause
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| One nation, young black and dangerous by far
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| Young nation just tryin' to get this
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| I always thought I’d have to die to do a record with Pac
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| So I wrote from the perspective of a graveyard box
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| You end up in a box ‘cause them graverobbin' bastards
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| Dig your grave back up, snatch you out the casket
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| Worms in my eyes, eatin' through my cabbage
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| The flesh to the bones, the bones to the ashes
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| But I’m not dead, I’m actually in a session
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| With the Pac keepin' the shot money, progressive
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| They don’t really want no drama, I know your goons
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| That’s why I keep pressure on 'em like a open wound
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| This God-given, he keep givin' me better music
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| So every time you hear me my songs present improvement
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| Y’all can’t kill me, y’all forever losin', songs are evolution
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| If I load your gun for you when we bang it out with some other niggas,
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| you better shoot it
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| Don’t try to lie and say you was bustin'—I'm clever, stupid!
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| Claimin' you reppin' Ruthless
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| You got the same bullets that you had when I loaded it for you, you never used
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| it
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| The Nacirema dream get ready for execution
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| Papoose, Fatal and Pac—the revolution
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| Who you are
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| One nation under a thug and bullet scar
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| Young nation, no revolution and no cause
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| One nation, young black and dangerous by far
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| Young nation just tryin' to get this |