| Lettin''em hang, I represent bangity-bang
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| I gettin’off into shit you can not handle
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| I’m settin’it off in this bitch, thinkin’of scandals
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| 'Bout my paper, 5 figures and up with the red beam
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| Dealers and thugs on my team with many 14's
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| Hittin’your home up, hittin’at everything movin'
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| Lookin’and losin', startin’chaos and confusion
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| I’m bruisin’your whole family, dress 'em up in dark colors
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| Then come to your funeral in two Hummers
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| That’s me, Baby Gangsta, spark in the day
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| Come out the funeral home, you get hit at walkin’away
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| I’m in to grow, legend with rights, I don’t been enticed
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| To greab the K and let it spray, put an end to a nigga life
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| My nigga TD gettin’high wit’me
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| Out that 13, straped up he ride or die wit’me
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| I was in the 'Nolia, lookin’for that killa guerilla
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| I know my nigga gangsta got it on wild willa
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| Uptown consist of drug dealers, and thugs
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| For the junkies got no love
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| It’s like this, play pussy you catch a slug
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| Drug though the mud, once it’s dead it’s done
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| Hand on my gun cause I don’t give a muthafuck
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| I’m a head buh-uh-busta, I never truh-uh-trust a bitch
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| Make sure I gotta silent 4−5, if this nigga snitch
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| Get me in the fix, and I can’t snitch out the mix
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| Just gimme tree lives, double them so I got six
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| Ain’t that some shit, wanna see me assed outta luck
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| Bet I ain’t trippin', cause I don’t give a muthatfuck
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| I be catchin’a nigga corner, rippin’through a nigga street
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| Hot Boys they ride with me, like a preist, five deep
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| Windows tinted, clips extened, drum lettin'
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| Bustin’lead 'n, real 'n, Hot Boy$ don’t forget it Leave every porch wet 'n, brains all over the step 'n
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| Disrespectin’the whole neighborhood block wettin'
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| Step in, the section, uh-of the Hot Boy$
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| Full of the 'dro, and ride and chop you whole spot boy
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| Better watch boy, where you be at cause I’m a hit at, three flat
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| You want beef, I’ma beef at, make it hot, I’ma crease that
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| Camoflauge to the 'Boks, pop off clips in the glocks
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| Make sure all choppers cocked, start a quake, shake the whole block
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| Take the tip of the jo, kick down the front door
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| Run from front to back bustin', Terius cut his wife throat
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| I’ma play it how it go, hold a black connect sho'
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| We went to school for this, we spend bins like a pro
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| Go chill with the Joe, Say wodie let’s get loaded
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| Blow a pound with my round, 50 shot’ll get me toted
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| I’ma wet your bin, hit your house, unlock ten
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| Boy you can’t win I let chopper bullets spin
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| Don’t fuck with bitch niggaz, 226 bout the real
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| Them niggaz who paper chase, go in the dark and pack that steal
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| You ain’t hear about the young thugs,
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| The Hot Boys, that’s who the are
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| Run that shit blow for blow, hoes be bout catchin’that nut
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| Nigga don’t think cause we young, we ain’t ridin’or dyin’too
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| Down with black connection to the finish, we bout killin’niggaz too
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| Spend your bin quickly, make you suffer, die slowly
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| You hit enough, I’m about to down, play the scenery
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| Big ol’Expedition’s, do some dirt in it tonight
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| Five choppers for who lost, kill a nigga, we just might
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| Bitch niggaz get left flat, like a flat rat in the street
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| Abunch of young head spliters, like K.C. |
| and B.G.
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| Fuck the police, cause we spray them too
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| Pop the cop or go down, cause we ain’t down with that crew
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| Get caught up in the crossfire, best believe It’s All On U
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| +Ohh, it ain't my fault+, I done what I had to do Give a fuck about no nigga, that nigga don't give a fuck about me Any chance he get he gon'take it, try to sweep me off my |
| feet
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| That’s why I keep my eyes wide, nigga cross that line they gon’die
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| Leave your families clueless, and questionin’why
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| 4−4 bull dogs bark loud, chopper moves crowds
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| Innocent bystanders watch out, them lil thugs act wild
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| I’m a ride or die-er, smoke nothin’but that fire-ya
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| Keep all my hoes cause I’m a liar
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| Neighborhood uh-hotter that a toaster, ridin’MoMo’s
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| and I’ll roast a deal what’s on my old poster,
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| if I pull it out my holster
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| You sopposed’a, respect a nigga like me
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| I’m gettin’closer and closer to the T-O-P
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| I’m H-O-T, bitches say I’m a D-O-G
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| I’m on surveilance all day be the S-P-D's
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| In my heart I feel, fuck the police |
| Cause in they hear they feel, fuck it,
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| try to keep a nigga off the street
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| Who? |
| Not I, nigga, the trillest B.G.
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| Lots’a money, and the best attourney speak for me And I speak and represent for the U.P.T.
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| I creep, and get bent with VL Street
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| I’slang heat, any day, noise I bring
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| Feel I can’t be bat any day, I’m a Hot Boy, I let 'em hang
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| Far as they can, cause I’m a thug to the fullest
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| Pistol in my hand, trigga I pull it 'til there’s no more bullets
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| I ain’t the one to be repped on Who whole block get stepped on If they outside, when I’m ride, I’ma ride 'til there’s no more gas
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| I’ma ride 'til I put you on your muthafuckin’back
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| I’m in all black, behind the skuh-uh-skimask
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| It ain’t no way that you could last
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| I’m comin’like the task force, I blast with full force
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| I’m sorry if your grandparents on the porch
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| They All 'N
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| Even if I don’t get no taller
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| I’ma always be a CMB baller, smokin’blunts in the hallway
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| I’m skinny yeah, weighin''bout 155
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| But believe I could tote a chopper, believe bitches could die
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| Now play with the man, full of that dope with a K in his hand
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| Don’t want hear what’cha sayin’just don’t be here when I sprayin'
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| How you gon’do it, we could handle that no secret
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| Boy, I’ll put some change on you head take you off the street quick
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| Look, I got a Mack-90 that won’t quit
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| I got clique foll of some njiggaz bout that funk shit
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| So what you want, get you dome split
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| You home hit, jeopardized
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| Niggaz spendin’a bin in camoflauge
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| I’ma top knot shot caller, from the clique CMB Ballers
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| Fuckin’niggaz daughters, got my shit sittin’on Brawlers
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| I’m mad boy, with this clique I’ma act a ass boy
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| It’s cash boy, I don’t think you could last boy
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| I’m bout to pull some out the hall type shit
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| Some Steven Seagal type shit
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| Some *cgghh* knife shit
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| Don’t think you niggaz feelin’that 226
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| Behind me the crucifix, chop or get chopped, split or get split
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| Doogie, Lil Wayne, Lil Turk, Lil Terius, better tell 'em
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| These niggaz are felons, HOT BOY be which we yellin'
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| Right know you close to the devil, and your lip gon’get you hurt
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| Picture this, three ways gon’tear up your turf |