| Breathe, breathe, man
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| Just let it go
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| (Breathe)
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| Weed, dawg
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| Just play!
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| Someone call an ambulance 'cause when the hammers danced there ain’t no tellin'
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| Who’s, fallin' the standards, strong and the battle stance it’s hard to
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| (Breathe), when you’re running for your life and there ain’t no
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| Shelter that you can hide in, try to
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| (Breathe), and just stay calm and try to get
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| Through every little fork in the road, you know the
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| (Breathe), load is getting heavier when you’re stacking up dough, homie
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| And never let them see you fall, you can’t
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| (Breathe) from the choke hold, that’s why you tappin', you throwin'
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| Better that, than to get me clappin', you won’t
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| (Breathe) any longer if we out here strappin'
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| So many nights the gun bites when the melees happen, I wanna
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| (Breathe) so give me some room, before we fuck you
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| And you screamin' that you light-headed dizzy, just
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| (Breathe), inhale, exhale, no joke, we get you
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| (Breathe), all twisted up from all the kush we smoke
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| Man, can’t you contact, go 'head 'n' fill your lungs up
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| Hold them in 'til you’re high as fuck, remember
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| (Breathe), so your conk-ass don’t pass out
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| The last on with, I still
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| (Breathe) can’t you hear it, homie? |
| My hearts pumpin' I’m
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| In the streets tryin' to your somethin', I
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| (Breathe) and I never let you stop me you wanna
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| (Breathe) out then don’t talk about me, man
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| (Breathe), go and get your gun, son you better run
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| Don’t come back 'cause we won’t let you
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| (Breathe), go and get your gun, son you better run
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| Don’t come back 'cause we won’t let you
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| (Breathe), go and get your gun, son you better run
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| Don’t come back 'cause we won’t let you
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| (Breathe), go and get your gun, son you better run
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| Don’t come back 'cause-
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| Cause motherfucker take notice, the new West Coast
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| We stand and stay focused, wrote this shit
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| I mix it up I spin my sentiment
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| Street Genesis, the Bible’s newest testament
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| I cleanse another mental when I spit these thoughts external
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| I’m a soldier that’s universal, that told you I will hurt you
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| I make sick dog music, they lose it in the circle
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| They try to kill you and send you straight to the morgue
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| When I spit these words at you they gone admire in «The Source»
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| I’m the lord of discipline, with a cup of gin, grinnin'
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| Just tryin' to make a million, so fuck your opinions
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| I got no feelin’s so you really can’t compare me
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| Unless you also backed by the SS military
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| Where we prepare daily for our day of deployment
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| I destroy men with spit shine bullets, the chamber poison
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| Metal pipes that set out life, it’s like gunpowder
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| The power to divide a man’s soul from his heart
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| White hot, I’m like Christ bringing light to the dark ages
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| Like CDs to haters, man, I think I’m going crazy
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| In a world where we skillin' and we tryin' to find some balance
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| I mastered these words so I ain’t wastin' my talent
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| I spit 16 bars from the pages without changes
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| I spit exactly what I feel remainin' the bravest
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| Crow Soto, B-Real, kings among average men
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| To do the damage I’m usin' a gun and the pen
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| (Breathe), go and get your gun, son you better run
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| Don’t come back 'cause we won’t let you
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| (Breathe), go and get your gun, son you better run
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| Don’t come back 'cause we won’t let you
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| (Breathe), go and get your gun, son you better run
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| Don’t come back 'cause we won’t let you
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| (Breathe), go and get your gun, son you better run
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| Don’t come back 'cause- |