| Down south
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| We got women on the beach
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| Swerve on streets
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| Players ridin drop
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| And the flips won’t stop
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| Now tell me what y’all know about a player like me comin through steppin
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| I’m wreckin, New Orlean’an, and in 1984 turned Texan
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| Lyrically flexin I made a name for myself
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| Gained love, not in clubs, on streets, and I dealt
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| With these playa-hatas out here among us in the game
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| I had to pass em by cause it really wasn’t my thing
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| Now don’t you wanna scream it like you mean it
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| To them fools who said I couldn’t do it
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| The ones that said that if I left the group, then I’d be ruined
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| Keep on doin what you’re doin
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| That’s what my conscience said, use your head, and you’ll win
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| Cause them haters who I thought was my partners, wasn’t really my niggas
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| They reneged, they couldn’t stand to see me get big in the business
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| That’s why they player-hated me
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| Talkin my business to them broads like we related, gee?
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| It never faded me cause I know where my head is at
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| Know where I’m headed at, that’s why I keep on makin…
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| Now the deeper the root |
| The bigger the square of the loot
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| When people think of the bomb shit, they think of the boon, fool
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| I’m speakin the truth, partner, seek and you’ll find
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| Southern dialect, I’m regulatin, that’s how I gets down for mine
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| It’s on to the break of dawn
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| So why should I stop kickin these fly-ass rhymes
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| That’s puttin these knots in my pocket? |
| I’m
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| About to rock until I can’t no mo'
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| I’m takin this here all the way to the bank for dough
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| Cause y’all know, as long as players turn into rappers
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| And rappers turn into actors, all these broads’ll be gettin atcha
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| Now which non-believin MC wanna see what time it is?
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| The rhymin wizard’s about to show you haters what southern rhymin is
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| I’m bombin kids, I show no mercy on a braveheart
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| Put it down in '94, and never gave thought
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| Caught every ???, every ass, checks got cashed
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| Fools got slung like the trash, I mash
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| ]From the scene, never seen by no witnesses
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| Partner, don’t try to play dumb, look, you know what this is
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| Quit the biz cause y’all ain’t ready for the outcome |
| No doubt, son, I’m from the south, and never lost a bout, son
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| Now, don’t step, or you’ll get ruined, mayn
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| I got you trippin on the way a soldier’s like me over here doin things
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| You knew the game, but you blew it again
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| Now the head honcho is back, so non-believers, hand over your ring
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| Give it up or get broken down
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| It’s goin down now, Mike Dean supplied the potent sound
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| So now you know it’s a southern thing
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| I’m handlin things, I bust a rhyme and do damage to any man you bring
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| I’m serious, I told you that way back in '94
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| They wanna flow, it ain’t no thing, just let the record go
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| Didn’t you know I bust from southwest to southeast?
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| Blessed by the best with this platinum-plated mouthpiece
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| So I give thanks, then it’s off to the bank
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| Protected by forces unseen, so I ain’t gettin ganked
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| As for the fakers and the haters
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| Small things ain’t nothin to a player
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| I’m all about my paper
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| I stacks my chips and then I break
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| Gather up my crew to Mike-a-nize, then we go and rock another state
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| Forget what another say, I’m backed up by my actions |
| Produce a dope hit, make a lick, and leave em askin
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| Who is Big Mike? |
| and like that I’m back atcha
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| Partner, handle your businesss, I ain’t mad atcha
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| Million dollar lyrics I compose leave a pattern for quality stature |