| They say I walk around like got an «S"on my chest
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| Naw, that’s a semi-auto, and a vest on my chest
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| I try not to say nothing, the DA might want to play in court
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| But I’ll hunt or duck a nigga down like it’s sport
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| Front on me, I’ll cut ya, gun-butt ya or bump ya
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| You getting money? |
| I can’t none with ya then fuck ya
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| I’m not the type to get knocked for D.W.I.
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| I’m the type that’ll kill your connect when the coke price rise
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| Gangstas, they bump my shit then they know me
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| I grew up around some niggas that’s not my homies
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| Hundred G’s I stash it (what), the mack I blast it (yeah)
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| D’s come we dump the diesel and battery acid
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| This flow’s been mastered, the ice I flash it
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| Chokes me, I’ll have your mama picking out your casket, bastard
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| I’m on the next level, bright ring bigot bezzle
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| Benz pedal to the metal, hotter than a tea kettle, blood (what)
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| We don’t play that
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| We don’t play that
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| We don’t play that (G-Unit)
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| We don’t play around
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| I sit back, twist the best bud, burn and wonder
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| When gangstas bump my shit, can they hear my hunger?
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| When the 5th kick, duck quick, it sounds like thunder
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| In December I’ll make your block feel like summer
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| The rap critics say I can rhyme, the fiends say my dope is a nine
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| Every chick I fuck with is a dime
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| I’m like Patty LaBelle, homie, I’m on my own
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| Where I lay my hat is my home, I’m a rolling stone
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| Cross my path I’ll crush ya, thinking I won’t touch ya
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| I’ll have your ass using a wheelchair, cane, or crutches
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| Industry hoe fuckers, in the hood they love us
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| Stomp a bone out your ass with some brand new chuckas |