| I live the life of a hoodlum
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| Take ten paces, turn around and shoot 'em
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| Concrete Budda
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| We threw 'em in the creak to loose 'em
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| Streets polluted with drugs
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| Salute 'em with thugs
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| We used to
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| Sleep on a rug
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| A momma never said she loved
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| Or hugged us
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| It’s just us, me and my two sisters
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| I’m too whooshes
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| Plus new bushes
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| With .22's up in the bushes
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| We ride, G’s
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| Menace to societies
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| The real shit
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| Fuck a movie, the village
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| We filled with Chinese
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| Essays, Niggas, Cambodians
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| Or go against the police
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| Thugged Out like Napolean
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| Grab the milli, from my belly, catch new welly
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| Slugs in your Pelle Pelle, smell me
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| Since Makaveli died, it’s like the Westcoast shit died
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| But Régime be the realest shit alive
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| Ride or die
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| So high am I, Nigga you can’t tell from the eyes
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| Blood shot red
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| The feds gettin' bread from the pies
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| Wiseguys cops risk lay-off to stay off the block
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| Transportin' drop the Yay off
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| You paid off the top
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| Smoke-A-Lot popular on the lock
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| For flippin' birds like Nadia
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| Mafia, Rap-A-Lot Mafia
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| My Nigga, my Nigga
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| I’m here to say to
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| You try to tell it
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| Can even spell it
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| It’s about respect
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| For God knows you was talking too
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| And the slap came
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| We be the realest motherfuckers in the Rapgame
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| Rap-A-Lot Mafia, you ain’t ready for what we got for ya
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| I make a motherfucker doctor ya
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| See, it ain’t all about records
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| We run the motherfuckin' streets in Houston, Texas
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| We mobilize and we been rated high
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| Our adversaries die, when our pull a fry, bullets fly
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| Like some motherfuckin' Blackbirds
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| When we ride
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| It’s caskets and con words
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| Mob Nigga
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| Fuck peace
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| See it’s all about violence
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| Put that Tek to you silent
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| Leave you howlin
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| I’ma creep upon ya (Yeah)
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| I’ma put it on ya (Who)
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| Drop bombs on ya like they did in Oklahoma
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| See ones that Nigga Yuk, look
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| Somebody gon die
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| You could took a try
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| And kiss that ass goodbye
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| You be found in your home Nigga
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| Head blown from that Chrome
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| Fuck with me, I’m livin' wrong Nigga
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| Nigga remember me
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| I’m the one, gon get ya
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| You better pray that God has switched ya
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| Fuckin' round with the Mafia
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| You torn blood from you bitches
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| Nigga what
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| Bustin holes in you bitches
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| You better wear you vest, real tight bitch
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| The Mafia gonna put it in you life bitch
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| Ain’t no motherfucker stoppin' up
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| The only bitch puttin' it down with the Mafia
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| Rap-A-Lot Mafia
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| Niggas sure wonder why I hang with these thugs
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| Cause my Nigga Yuk fuckin' these Niggas up
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| Nigga, this Rap-A-Lot, Mafia till I die
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| Why? |
| Because we ride
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| Everyday do or die
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| Riffles and .45's
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| 17-shot 9's
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| Right up between your eyes
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| Niggas is gon die
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| Niggas come from the pound
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| Hummers and S-S's
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| Born to be a killer
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| Fill a Nigga
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| Body with holes
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| Head the toe when he showed up
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| Blow up your whole motherfuckin' head, quote us
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| And I’ma roll, with my Niggas till the wheels fall
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| Clean up the motherfuckin' car
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| And in this room we bring the world war
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| See the Circlepiece be the satellite
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| From the 5th Ward
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| Command union, how we do it, how we do it
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| From the South
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| Texas roll real, swing wide knock 'em out
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| Double «0» and Yuk worldwide what you talkin' about
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| See the .45's, see the big faces
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| Catchin' murder cases, hood erasers
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| Paper chasers
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| With the 98, sittin' on steakes
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| Ballin' in the bay with the Tek to place
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| Recognize the Mob bitch
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| All day this thug shit
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| Blisted up, trigger fingers for Niggas that start shit
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| Creep this as I part quick
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| Ride dopefiend, will her with a tint
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| AK’s and vest’s
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| Born in California, killed down in Texas
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| Ohoh, slow your roll here come the po-po's
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| Anything can happen ridin' through execution capital
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| E-Rock the stupid fo', who’s ridin' with this Nigga Yuk
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| We the Mafia, squabble the gun
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| Played out, droppin' ya
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| We mob figgers
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| We to take the whole world out
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| At 50 states all Black God
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| After that, we still gon grind on the side
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| To make your motherfuckers mind
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| I pop the 9, you pop the 9
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| And all y’all motherfuckers dyin'
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| We gon drive by
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| We walk up and do these Niggas out the game
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| We sell 2 shot, and none left in the chain
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| Cause it’s Rap-A-Lot Mafia man
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| Is to be fuckin' with man
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| Watch who you talk to
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| We kill
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| If that’s what it’s brought down to |
| Off with his motherfuckin' head with the lead
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| Dead leave his Hilfiger shirt all red
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| Said it’s motherfucker locked in your spot
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| Shot’s will be dropped, right here, right now
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| Paw, Niggas all the way tugged down
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| Town
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| Ride around town showin' out
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| Pounds
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| City after city fuckin' hoes
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| Yours ain’t a lot act like you know
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| Capone with the city complete assassinater
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| With paper, blow up a Nigga shit like sky pagers
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| It’s major, save a whole out of not
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| Stop, if you think your feelin' fin popped
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| Rap-A-Lot can’t stop, won’t, don’t stop
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| And we did already hit the top
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| Rap-A-Lot can’t stop, won’t, don’t stop
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| And we did already hit the top
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| Mob
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| I be comin' through rages
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| And Niggas thinkin' I pissed off
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| I’m itchin' to get my sick off
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| I be trickin' them if they trick off
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| All hands about to get kicked off
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| Nigga I got 'em
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| Fuck up your body when the slugs touch down
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| Runnin' up on me you feel it
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| The realest and platinum bound
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| With the Nigga called Yuk
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| We brakin' bed and ballin
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| Feds hollin'
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| Bloody bodies with no heads
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| And calling your momma Nigga
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| Yo, who the Mob, feel her
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| Rap-A-Lot Nigga
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| Kick that John quicker
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| I missed the bomb disher
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| Flat the palms
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| Money is in my figures
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| With our triggers
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| Snypaz be red dot Niggas
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| We the Mafia and Yuk sent your picture
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| So we’re droppin'
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| Maybe you speakin'
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| Role one
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| Kill each other, smoke some
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| Po-po's pass to folks some
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| Rap-A-Lot Mafia known from
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| We put’s limits on Niggas
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| We hold money over bitches
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| Let the whole world recognize the realest
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| When it’s bangin' Rap-A-Lot Mafia
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| The street’s most popular
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| Servin' your hood like helicopters
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| Say the wrong thing and I’ll slaughter ya
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| Disrespect the Mob, young catch punkin' heads
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| Wishin' you was dead
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| Layin in bed the next
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| Nigga what did I say
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| To make these Niggas act this way
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| Rich thugs still got me muggs
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| Just to remind a motherfucker, about where I was
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| Nothin' but love from my thugs
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| Get your paper cause
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| We laugh and drink when we rich, black and know this spore
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| Nigga this Rap-A-Lot Mafia
|
| You ain’t gotta come from Cranestreet
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| 200 or Circlepiece
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| It’s all about do you believe
|
| Rap-A-Lot Mafia life
|
| Rap-A-Lot on the streets
|
| Recognize the Mob or get you ass mobbed on
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| No love to ones who oppose
|
| We taggin' motherfuckers toes
|
| And we ain’t even got a dresscode
|
| Just those, 1000 Niggas infront of Expo’s
|
| Waitin' on the next goes
|
| So lets roll and lets go
|
| Ain’t no sissy Niggas survivin'
|
| If you don’t come with them you got a problem
|
| Solve 'em, hit 'em with the .44 revolver
|
| Make an amount of what believe is right before his daughter
|
| Exactly like the doctor ordered
|
| Dressin' your homies up in church clothes
|
| You took the shot, that brought the black hoe
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| And that’s cold, but that’s the motherfuckin' thing
|
| Respect the Mob and Little J and the family name |