| Definitely the strongest shit on the shelf
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| Double R, D-Block (1st infantry)
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| Yeah, what, yo, yo…
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| Listen, the thugs need it, hoes gon' use it
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| Me? |
| I’m just a young nigga that make old music
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| Uh, shit is real, I put the inf on the 4
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| Keep it wit' me 'cause possessions 9/10ths of the law
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| Here I am goin' all out again, doin' all that I can
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| Even had a daughter born outta sin
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| Nigga, I make pain cinematic
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| I spit dope and you been a addict; |
| treat beef like jail
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| Summertime, somethin' big with the scope under the winter jacket
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| I use the winter tactics, and I know you tryin' to play the role
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| But bullets the wrong shit to interact wit'
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| I hurt the game, hurt ravines
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| Soon as you murk somethin' these niggas’ll chirp Janine
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| Yeah, let 'em all cock ride, in my mansion with a bottle
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| Move a novel and the wall spin counter-clockwise
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| Might as well go on, go and see papi
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| 'Cause niggas only know three words: «He shot me» (Uh)
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| That’s why I be eyein' 'em down
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| No dap, no rap 'cause these niggas be wired for sound
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| But I still put a hole in a goon, Jada Montega
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| Still put a hole in a spoon, pay the bond later
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| Plenty ones, plenty guns, plenty ammo
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| Remember this: «Calmate», ''que te calmo'' mutha-fuckas. |
| What!
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| «Calamate» «que te calmo»
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| Know what that mean, huh? |
| Calm down… before I calm you down!
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| I don’t wanna talk much
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| You gettin' hawked up and chopped up
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| Two guns up on your tour bus
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| Heard you got the cops wit’chu—that's a goddamn shame
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| The talk on your album, I thought you had a block wit’chu?
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| Couple niggas to pop wit’chu—you full of shit!
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| And the only thing you got is a couple niggas to drop wit’chu
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| Waiting for a nigga… wit' a mouth like you
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| When they said you was the hottest, they meant out yo' crew
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| I’m the hardest in New York City
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| Think not? |
| I got a Glock, Sheek Louch style, you walk wit me
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| You bitch niggas will die leery
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| I keep the 9 in the 5 Series
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| Why don’t you come work a 9-to-5 wit' me?
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| See, the bricks moved, the stick-ups pulled
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| I got the killers laying flat down in pickups too
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| Pop up and put a clip in your mug
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| Hate is different than love, it spread faster—is you gettin' me, cuz?
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| Shit, let me explain, my brain is on a different wave
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| Everybody get it now—fuck it, it’s a different day
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| And suck my dick when I ain’t got shit to say
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| Niggas think I’m dumb like I ain’t put them bricks away
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| Prepared for the war, anxious to kill
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| Bang shit, swing shit, leave you shanked in the grill
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| I ain’t give a fuck then or now, when or how
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| How many niggas die? |
| That depend on Styles
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| WHAT!
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| (Sheek: And my nephew Alchemist…)
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| Ayo, I ain’t seen nothing yet
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| Niggas all threat—pussy when they sober, thugs when they wet
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| What up, killer? |
| Nigga, please, stop frontin'
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| You don’t need a safe to hold 5 G’s
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| My neck don’t freeze and my wrist don’t either
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| I don’t need it—I just copped a house on a Visa
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| And I ain’t go platinum, my first album was a teaser
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| Now they on my meat like ice in the freezer
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| Sheek Louch, I tell you that boy he’s a
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| Problem—I take out blackheads like a tweezer
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| We’ll discredit you homie and let the wolves eat you
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| We don’t need to dump lead at you, homie
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| You either in or you out of it
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| 'Cause I got a son now, and you fuckin' up a lot of shit I gotta get
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| And I hate for this to get out of hand
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| To have to give it to a nigga I played wit' in the sand
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| Shit, the West Coast barely know the name of our band
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| That’s why I spit enough heat to give a nigga a tan
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| A’ight, I know you got mad cake—okay, nigga, AND?
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| Sheek don’t give a fuck, I let my gut hang
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| You one day away from lipo and a face tuck
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| This that D-Block, Alchemist heat rock
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| Yo, I’m fucked up man! |
| P pass that blunt
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| Yo Busy, where my yak at, son?
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| Fuck that, I’m outta here
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| Let’s go…
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| (R-r-r-reppin' ALC, you know what I’m sayin? 1st Infantry bitch (bitch bitch)) |