| Beat still lead him in jack pat
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| Yea, ill flavored tags in the backpack
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| Drinks sequence old one, scratch that
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| But them brown J3's drop, I had that
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| Yea, tags all over the 2 tents and no bros
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| Verses on the soul of my shell toes, wallows
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| Wutchu know rubbin elbows?
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| '09, glad to see them doors the hell closed
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| Close call, Basquiats, but smashed city hall
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| Weaving round all them laws
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| Wutchu know about tags?
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| You got em all over them final sleeves
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| Drunk chick signing they tips flip
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| Putting mustaches round the models and the maggots
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| Fat ass John got er fast just on the Jag
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| And you know for the clouds we got tags
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| Snap bomb wires off heaven for tags
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| But we ain’t just talkin bout the 50
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| '94 plates, insurance made it (tags)
|
| Yea, beat still under the bridge shit
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| Shoppin with a different, some chick shit
|
| Still got the new arrow still on the cap
|
| Plus the fat cat just to bust her fat ass
|
| Black white bubble, let her rap jazz
|
| You know rhyme of the Ratpack
|
| Crossin out facts, we don’t hold no bad flow
|
| Sick with the Glocks, make em throw up (tags)
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| Flatline John, Montana Max (tags)
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| There back swimming on the facts
|
| We ain’t just talkin bout graffiti
|
| '94 plates, insurance made it (tags)
|
| Killers that joins the keys up (tags)
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| Empty that, feel this K, got (tags)
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| Every time he go off air he’s got
|
| Shivers every moment, pace that
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| The mere woman got some big ass
|
| Thanks to that Basquiat ho
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| You know one sayin this all cold
|
| Saber in the LA river go |