| Corner store in any U.S. town
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| Barber shop next door, church two doors down
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| Tire shop is adjacent, owned by Africans
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| Talk politics and get your flat fixed
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| On summer nights, the block looks a lot like Freaknik
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| Park across the street, but don’t nobody picnic
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| Usually used for drug sales and hitting licks
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| There’s only one way into and one way out of it
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| Store owner got a big ass gun
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| Known to be the first to pull out and last to run
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| They say he got a benz he won’t even drive to the store
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| He know his business does better if he looks like he’s poor
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| His store’s wack, but it’s always packed
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| Make me wonder if he’s really selling coke out the back, hmmm
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| Last thing that my neighborhood needs
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| I’mm writing «greed» on his shit when his bitch ass leaves
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| But not tonight, now I’m just casing the joint
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| So when I do hit it up, my shit can be on point
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| Did the stats, I’m posted at the best spot possible; |
| a bench inside the park
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| with night-vision binoculars
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| Did a double take, adjusted my focus familiar face walking by that look just
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| like «oh shit!»
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| Cat by the name of Anthony Portis
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| As luck would have it, he’s number four on my list
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| I knew he lived close but he was hard to find
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| No car, no employment record of any kind
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| Life time drug addict, real grimy
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| Did time for raping chicks and missed most of the 90s
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| Still running wild at 45
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| Probably rob an old lady if it help him survive
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| He’s skinny as fuck, results of his lifetime addiction
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| But not who I fought with and suspected of killing the kid
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| Thought about leaving, but stuck around
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| When I seen him creep behind the store into the alley and crouch down
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| My mommy ain’t raise no dummies
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| He either about to get high or about to try to get money
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| Came back, hand tucked in his carhartt jacket
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| Ski mask on his face and a long ass ratchet
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| So I learned over and grabbed my video camera
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| If it’s about to go down then I’m about to catch it
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| He waited on the last car to leave the lot
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| Walked up backwards, took a last pull of the pot
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| Swung around towards the counter, big ass gun cocked
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| «I want the cash and the drugs or your ass getting' shot!»
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| My dude got balls, but he lost his mind
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| For even thinking that the owner was alone at night
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| They usually roll deep right around closing time so while he emptied out the
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| register they crept up behind
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| Two shot hit him right in his spine
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| While he struggled not to fall, the owner pointed his nine
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| Let off a couple, sounded like the fourth of July
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| He was head but they still shot his ass twenty times
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| Horrified, I scream to myself and wait for the gunshots to end so I can plan my
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| escape
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| Reach over to my bag put my goggles away
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| Take the camera off the tripod, eject my tape |