| Fuck with me, get your issue, I got lead just like a pistol
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| And your mama gonna miss you if you do not duck this missile
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| I’m the plug, you just the middle, I serve you from out the rental
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| You can’t ride, you ain’t my kinfolk, this a Chevy, not no Pinto
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| She go low like it’s limbo, lil' freak, she a nympho
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| Rollin' OG, yeah that indo, thumbin' blue cheese, no it can’t fold
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| You can’t see because the tint, though, I see one time, had to get low
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| Double parked Forgiatos, pour the codeine in the bottle
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| Feed my dogs, I feel like Ralo, 'cendiaries, these not hollows
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| You ain’t eatin', no, like Rocko, hella shells, no, not tacos
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| You need yams, I got a carload, off that muddy, this not Par though
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| And the 40 black like charcoal, Gucci belt with the Moschino
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| Callin' plays like Dan Marino, double up, then I trio
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| Lazy niggas, y’all just freeload, stackin' chips, yeah them Fritos
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| Gucci’d down, check my steelo, bad bitch think she Creole
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| Got no cape, I ain’t no hero, smokin' O’s and countin' zeros
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| Empty clip, then I reload, sendin' shots, you drinkin' Tito’s
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| Perc 30, that’s for me, though, pack musty, smell like B. O
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| Knock, knock, knock, like who that be though?
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| Got the chop up by the peephole
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| Bad bitch, lil' freak show
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| What you want? |
| Got what you need, though
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| Ain’t got nothin' for the free, though
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| My Crip niggas countin' C-Notes
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| I’m with slime, we countin' B-Notes
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| Twenty racks up in my Ksubis
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| You got bus card in your chinos
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| On the Greyhound movin' P’s, though
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| I’ma get it, got the cheat codes
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| Hit my line and speak that lingo
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| Cop a five, I float you cinco
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| (Bitch, shop with me, ho) |