| What’s happening playa, just sitting here, you know
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| Putting together some of that ghetto gumbo, you know
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| Some motherfucking gumbo?
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| Yeah nigga, gum in the mother fuck bo
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| Like that there?
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| Yeah, I got my niggas in here, we finna put it down
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| You know what I’m saying, real, real special
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| You know? |
| Check it out, like this here
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| Verse1(Mac Dre)
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| As I get to bustin'
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| This introduction
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| Of mind corruption
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| And rhyme seduction
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| I steal and fill brains
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| With game and mo' thangs
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| Like them dope thangs
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| And what that hoe brang
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| Creep on Crest streets
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| Speak on fresh beats
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| Hit the motel, and freak on fresh sheets
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| And wet sheets, is the end result
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| Been killing long cock since ten years old
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| See I blend this old-game with this new
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| And ain’t no telling what a bitch will do
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| Now picture you
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| In my position
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| Steady getting sweated by the opposition
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| Could you handle
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| All this scandal
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| And keep on stepping like boots and sandals
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| My handle, is young Mac Dre
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| Silky slim, is my A.K.A
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| And you know that bay is my rompin' grounds
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| I mean stompin' grounds
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| But I like the way Rompin' sounds
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| So I’ma keep it
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| Romp related
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| And if it ain’t down with the romp, I hate it
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| Verse2(JT the Bigga Figga)
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| Well let me jump into the pot with all the hustlers and players
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| Chop potatoes with Phillie faders, Knocking niggas with Tre Eights
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| But now I
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| See my niggas at the spot with the session
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| Illegal product
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| Then people plotted, rotted with no confessions
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| Smith and Wessons
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| Demonstrations with Fully Autos, actin'
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| Conversations at the lab to keep the trackers trackin'
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| Double backin' to the spot where all the money filter
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| Keep it on the down low
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| You never tell about your scrilla
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| On the reala
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| I breaks it down in all directions
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| It’s the Fillmoe players with the O
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| And the Crest connection
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| All in the session with my folks, You know they got the Dolo
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| Hit the gateway tracks, like some fiends in a forward Volvo
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| Bought a Bolo
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| Seen Kelly, mashed off, and then we hollered
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| Trailing Coolio and Mac Dre in a green Impala
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| Getting cloudy
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| The laboratorys just like a porny
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| Got a patient
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| Cousin Quinn is making the shit get saramani
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| Hella fetti
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| We ready, steady, with all the bumbles
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| Keeping it real with Dangerous Dame and Mac Mall in this fucking gumbo
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| Straight paper
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| Straight fetti
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| Straight gumbo
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| Verse3(Dangerous Dame)
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| Niggas we pull
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| Niggas will say so
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| We hit the strip from San Jose, to Vallejo
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| Make more scrilla by the mouth piece
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| Non-talking niggas don’t know shit about me
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| Ignore 'em like bitches
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| Respect
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| There ain’t a hand out
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| Like a sore thumb, fake niggas always stand out
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| Player hater prayer
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| Praying that I buckle everyday
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| Ain’t worth five cents, or my knuckles to the face
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| But my burners ain’t feeling no flesh
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| If you niggas wanna test
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| Let it jump and we could put the shit to rest
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| You thinking deeply
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| But I be on service like a shark
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| Consider me that hate, but see I serve you from the heart
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| 'cause love loves me
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| And hate loves me
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| So what the fuck you think?
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| You can’t fuck with me
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| You paying dopefiends, to put 'em to work
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| But now your money’s gettin' low
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| While I be getting low with this wicked flow
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| You got at me last night
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| But I wasn’t asking who was bustin' the trigger
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| I’m blowing big bomb smoke, yelling «Nothin' ass nigga»
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| My pimping ain’t soft
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| I’m taking no losses
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| So why the hell do you persist to put me in crosses?
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| You thought it was shackles, but then they was ropes
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| And now they’re spider webs
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| I broke on you hoes
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| I know what you’re doing before you do it
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| Got an outside plan, but in the end you’re looking stupid
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| Huh, yeah
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| 'Cause Dangerous Dame got 'em riding on the freeway
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| Actions speak louder
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| I don’t fuck with he say-she say
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| Think you got game?
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| Never could you have it
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| You niggas are crying wolf, while I’ll be fucking Jessica Rabbit
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| Straight trading places
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| But fool this ain’t no dream
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| You was happy as hell when you had me under your infra red beam
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| Once again, get low for the East O
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| Add a little recipe to the gumbo
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| Verse4(Da Unda Dogg)
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| Add me
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| Mix me up
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| Stir me in the pot with these niggas that fix me up
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| See, back in '91, Coolio was the shit
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| So now we cooking a batch of gumbo and it ain’t gonna quit
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| My nigga the Bigga Figga, adding that spice so fool it’s saucy
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| You bitches thinking you’ll eat for free, well this shit is costly
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| So back up off me
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| And recognize the sound is poppin'
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| Beause we steadily droppin' dope, like the keys you coppin'
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| Mother fuckers, they get to actin foul
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| When they know they can’t fuck with the style
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| Smile punk mother fucker, sucka, hating bustas
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| Ain’t no friends when it comes to ends, so you can not trust us
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| But trust me
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| You can not dust me, or try and bust me, dumbo
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| Your ass gets heated in this pot of gumbo |