| Like it was 1986, yeah I’m back bitch
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| Big money, subwoofer, Randy Savage
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| It was 1986, yeah I’m back bitch
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| MC 24 crawling through the traffic
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| It was 1986, yeah I’m back bitch
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| Rolling clean, hella screen, digi-dashed it
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| It was 1986, coldest year ever
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| Mama coulda cut me out the womb but she knew better
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| Digi my dash, this for the playas
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| That got them some golds and copped them some gators
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| Fresh than a motherfucker I knew what it took
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| The thing that I’m giving you couldn’t get out a book
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| Now don’t be tricking no hoes, don’t be lending your ride
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| And if you fuck, wear a rubber cause they burning inside
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| If it don’t pay whatcha asking then you wasting your time
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| If you can’t get you no old school don’t go fucking with mine
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| Watching for jackers, scoping for law
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| They go to hating when I’m basing cause I swang and I crawl
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| Scraping the wall, rubbing the curb
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| A chef with the whipping, my trunk shaken and stirred
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| I got a fetish for Chevys, a itch for the dollar
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| On the hunt for a freak, down to fuck if she swallow
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| I be popping my collar til I’m dead in a tomb
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| Hell, I been popping my collar since I fell out the womb
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| It feels good to have it
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| Knowing that I did what I could
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| It feels good to have it
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| I put the leather on top of the wood
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| It feels good to have it
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| I rode chrome all around my streets
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| It feels good to have it
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| To see it, to need it, to grab it
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| Feels good to have it |