| You can catch me in the hood smokin' good, posted on the lot
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| Got a pocket full of money cuz im fresh off the block
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| The hood smokin' good, posted on the lot
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| Got a pocket full of money cuz im fresh off the block
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| Yea we sippin, dippin, tippin, elbow swangin out the window
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| Swimming pool up in the roof, I got the suede up in the ceiling
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| '88 dope man, not purple rain-rocks, having thangs, diamond chains
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| Doin it till my money came
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| Southside, Westside, Eastside, Northside, on them wires, on the blades
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| Ery’body smokin' haze
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| Cadillac, Chevy, Escalade, and them Hummer trucks
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| We burnin rubber, runnin lights, we don’t give a fuck
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| We on that laffy taffy, yall niggas be smokin, babby
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| We custom fitted from our sneakers to our clothes daddy
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| We keep them hoes lookin, starin, gawkin', talkin 'bout us
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| We got them peoples and feds, yea they talk about us
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| About the way we talk, about the way we dress
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| How 'bout them diamond grills? |
| How 'bout they lookin' fresh?
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| I’m always smokin' good, I’m posted on the lot
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| A pocket full of money, I’m fresh up off the block
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| So many brand-new niggas, we don’t know who to trust
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| A bunch of pussy-ass rappers tryin' to sound like us
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| Sweet Jones is a pimp I got bitches on track
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| Send a ho out on a mission, tell 'em break 'em, bring it back
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| Got a house in Hawaii, about to buy a Rolls
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| Nigga think we just 'bout rapping bitch but dope is getting sold
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| I’m a young, hot street flame, deep up in the d-game
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| Smokin' dro, slammin' Cadillac doors, red paint switchin' lane-to-lane
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| I ain’t came to lose bitch, I done paid my dues bitch
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| Got fifteen years off in this muthafuckin' rap shit
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| Seen alotta niggas come, seen alotta niggas go
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| I seen some niggas blow, I seen some turn to hoes
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| Candy cars, candy doors, I got yellow hoes that play wit' they nose
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| If ya like, she blow in ya butt
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| Eat ya dick and then lick ya nuts
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| If I wasn’t rappin baby, I’d still be drivin' this shit
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| Makin hoes hide this dick, UGK we live in this bitch
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| Swisha sweets is a must
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| Mixin' purple wit the tux
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| We call it banana split
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| Choose a pimp ho, I’m the dick
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| I got Bobby 'bout a pound, nigga Whitney 'bout a key
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| DJ Screw about a gallon, bitch the game belong to me
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| In '72, a player born in his boots
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| Every line is the Gospel, cuz every word is the truth
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| Some may call me the realest, this from the heart you can feel it
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| Project baby cuz my family from the Car-Swerve Village
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| And moved the Northside city wit this downtown witty
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| That influenced, project grew 'n' then now '88 gritty
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| Twelve years old smokin' squares, and by thirteen smokin' water
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| By fourteen I was a busy boy in somebody daughter
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| Rockin' them black Stacy Adams and that fresh gold hat
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| Im sellin' weed a year later, whoa, here come the crack
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| I’m sellin' 50's and bopper’s the cluckers say I got good
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| And wit the crack came the gangs, and that divided the hood
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| And then the war jumped off, some niggas didn’t make it a summer
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| The other niggas locked up, doin rides, receivin' numbers
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| I changed my life wit the quickest, fuh' real and layed down the D
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| I ain’t sellin no mo' but you can still catch me in the hood
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| I’m from the middle of the map where the river run deep
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| Up I-55 where them niggas run D
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| Got a pocket full of stones along wit Bun B, Pimp C, ???
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| Luv didn’t have it, I could get it from Three
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| Papi didn’t have it, I could get it from E
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| Niggas need dank, you can call on me
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| Hell I come through, it don’t matter if you on that Southside, Westside,
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| Eastside, Northside
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| Used to open up my trunk like there it is, let ya pick which one ya need to get
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| loose
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| I beat that block like bad kids, yea you might wanna call that block abuse
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| Dirty then? |
| Made Derrty now, some of yall might know, but don’t blurt it out
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| You know how shit travel, word of mouth, have them kick-in boys all in my house
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| Knockin' down my glass door, tryin' to rip up my marble floor
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| But ain’t nothin that for that ass though you know
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| See that’s throwback like Dukey Rope
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| Candy painted, hundred spokes, baking soda, watch it grow
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| Gangsta, gangsta? |
| Neva that, but I keep that thang like 'Where he at?'
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| Ain’t no rubber band big enough to hold these stacks
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| I wrap my money in Reynolds Wrap
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| Slangin' ery’thing I get my hands on
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| From the white to the green, to the 1-I phones
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| And I even sold dick to a chick named Simone |