| I don’t give a hell what you spit
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| Who you are, where you from
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| This is, this is projects
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| I don’t give a hell what you spit
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| Who you are, where you from
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| And who the hell you be gettin'
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| Urban wolves, dream team baby
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| The Sosa of the game has returned
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| Brooklyn, black Sopranos, let’s play
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| Nice and smooth, white Nikes, icey jewels
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| So cool, but the slightest shit ignite my fuels
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| Love it low, stay in mine, attach semi
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| Cuz its hard to enter rap just passin' by
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| XK8, it’s all good, the next they hate
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| Was never the type of nigga that flexed his weight
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| See, frontin just ain’t my forte, I’m all foreplay
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| Hoppin' out the porsche, drop products on graves
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| My slow grind story niggas cosign for me
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| Y’all slouch rappin' fake trash niggas' rhymes bore me
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| Adore me, respect niggas way before me
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| Since a shorty, in love wit big guns and orgies
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| Engaged to it, guzzlin' that beige fluid
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| Spazzin' like its the music that made me do it
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| Move through it if you that thorough, I’m certified
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| Through the grapevine, I know that niggas heard I’m live
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| Look, look, I be postered up like I’m toasted up nice
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| Stop niggas from gettin' killed, broken up fights
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| Blunted at the park jams, opened up mics
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| Now its on us, in the ??? |
| I focus on right
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| Its hardball, now niggas can’t call foul
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| Y’all can’t get wit me, I can’t fall now
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| Immune to the murderous plots
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| Been about it way before niggas heard I was hot
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| Heavy jewels, the type to keep the herb in the sock
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| A fresh pair, and I fuck wit them Germans a lot
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| Let’s play, pop bottles like its no tomorrow
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| Ricky Ricardo, the young black Leonardo
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| Part Spanish, my robe’ll make the dark vanish
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| Too complicated for y’all 85's, don’t understand it
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| Respect game, there’s rules as a criminal
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| So recognize I’m a five star general
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| You touchin' who
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| Yo, yo, at time its hard illin', it kinda scars the feelings
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| But what yall want from a game that’s involved in millions
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| Cars, and chillin', sex wit' they broads, but villain
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| It could find a broke man, have him harm civilians
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| Its like a larson and razor blades but robbers spinnin'
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| Niggas runnin' from court tryna dodge they sentence
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| The odds is endless, moms can’t calm the menace
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| Its like Saddam’s in us, comin' fully armed for business
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| Chrome pubelies, smoke great, two tone seventies
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| Five miles on the same line, the zone is deadly
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| Hope heaven got a ghetto for us
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| In the hood, for the hustlers that bled before us
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| Weep slow, soak in, feel the Schweppervesence
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| Specialize foot notes for the adolescents
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| Locked in, there’s beef in the game now
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| I know its deep but the streets know the name now
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| The war is on |