| You know what it is, turn my mic up
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| Turn my muh’fuckin' mic up on these faggot ass niggas
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| THAT’S MY WORD…
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| I’m linked to the loonies, yeah a live wire
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| Though I think like them Sunnis, shit, I never tire
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| Social drinker if you knew me
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| Plus, I’m a buyer
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| All bottles on me baby (baby.), put your bids in
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| Without a plan I just ran, and I slid in
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| Hundred grand, now we fam, I could fit in
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| Fake love from these Matrix thugs
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| So move, nothin' personal, or take these slugs
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| I’m back, the MAC double, clap
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| Strap to the lap in the hatch back
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| With the duffle pack, puffin' a sack
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| I never nap, but I see niggas sleep on me
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| So for that, I’ma make 'em sleep eternally
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| AZ the archangel, my smarts is tangled
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| So I could dumb at any time or send them sharks to bang you
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| Chains dangle, charms all glossy and lit
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| So like that shit Flava Flav said, stay off his dick
|
| (Yeah, yeah, yeah)
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| Get yo' shit right, nigga
|
| (Yeah, yeah, yeah)
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| Get yo' shit right, muh’fucka
|
| (Yeah, yeah, yeah)
|
| Get yo' shit right
|
| Or get your bitch ass bodied tonight
|
| First the, Lex off the lot then the Jag came next
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| Then them cheques started pop, and these crabs got vex
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| But when you, fresh off the block, you just laugh at threats
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| So baby pa, I’m a star for real, so no stress
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| One of the best that made that transition, sold the Beamer
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| Never a bitch nigga, stand pissin', got a, cold demeanor
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| Full of that ambition, still, hold the Nina
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| So no disrespect, but don’t be a
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| I’m a steamer, puff trees consecutively
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| Classic shit all day like, B.I.G
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| Passionate, how I spit on this M-I-C
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| So pardon me, but y’all puffers better PYT
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| I am he, the most hated, but the ho’s favorite
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| Flows flagrant, hall of famer like Joe Namath
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| You know I’m heinous, so why violate my slot?
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| I’m as serious as a Muslim when he makin Salah
|
| (Yeah, yeah, yeah)
|
| Get yo' shit right, nigga
|
| (Yeah, yeah, yeah)
|
| Get yo' shit right, muh’fucka
|
| (Yeah, yeah, yeah)
|
| Get yo' shit right
|
| Or get your bitch ass bodied tonight
|
| Made for the silver screens, vocals is vivid
|
| Play the shade in the Philippines, I, blow through some digits
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| Still a fiend for the illest jeans, I’m supposed to live it
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| Was chose, like them Gucci soles that expose the signatures
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| No limit from the start, never seen a finish
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| With heart and a little smarts, proceeds is endless
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| It depends on what mark is left, if a OG’s remembered
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| And how I chow was just part of my style, hear me now?
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| Cross paths with the craziest that, had no conscience
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| You know that kingpin, 80's shit, when they spaz they monsters
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| Get ya ass found chopped up in a trash bag in Yonkers
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| Thank God they only rappin' today, it’s that real
|
| I know some big wills that’s still tryin' to, appeal they case
|
| Baby face, biddin' niggas since '88
|
| So I’ma skate 'til I slip and, shipped upstate
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| I know y’all hatin' ass niggas can’t wait, muh’fuckas…
|
| (Yeah, yeah, yeah)
|
| Get yo' shit right, nigga
|
| (Yeah, yeah, yeah)
|
| Get yo' shit right, muh’fucka
|
| (Yeah, yeah, yeah)
|
| Get yo' shit right
|
| Or get your bitch ass bodied tonight
|
| (Yeah, yeah, yeah)
|
| Get yo' shit right, nigga
|
| (Yeah, yeah, yeah)
|
| Get yo' shit right, muh’fucka
|
| (Yeah, yeah, yeah)
|
| Get yo' shit right
|
| Or get your bitch ass bodied tonight |