| Trying to rob me, dog, I’ma knock you off
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| Let that pistol cough, don’t test me, foe
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| I’m a real one dog, a drug dealer, uh
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| Don’t make me steal a cup, just let me peel this
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| Trying to rob me, dog, I’ma knock you off
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| Let that pistol cough, don’t test me, foe
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| I’m a real one dog, a drug dealer, uh
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| Don’t make me steal a cup, just let me deal this drug
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| I say y’all motherfuckers ain’t ready
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| I’m riding with them 25 bricks in my Chevy
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| I tell my nigga «meet me in the east by the levy»
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| It’s heavy, a duffel bag full of get ready
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| I’m deadly, bust a head, now send me to my celly
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| I’m in the belly, sometimes I feel like I’m Makaveli
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| I’m crucified, boy, bleed from my belly
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| I’m high, homie, put some fee in for that smelly
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| My only words to the sky is «Lord, let me die»
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| If I’m survive, I’m gon' ride, can’t no nigga slide
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| Can’t no nigga hide, boy I’m crazy, they gon' pay for mine
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| Waistline, tech nine, I hit waist and spine, boy
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| Money I’ma make mine, a broke nigga is a coward and I takes mine
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| They say I’m a product of my project
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| It’s, tell a nigga push my top back
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| But I don’t there, your bullets might bounce back
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| I’m bulletproof, boy, don’t die for a ounce of crack
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| But I don’t there, your bullets might bounce back
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| I’m bulletproof, boy, don’t die for a ounce of crack
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| As the Den-block hustler, knows as cocaine corner
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| Be first-round draft picks, the dope game wants us
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| There’s blood in these streets, a couple homies died on me
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| But niggas still got heat, so we still grind on 'em
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| Trying to move a couple zips, watch 'em do a couple flips
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| Blue steel, rubber grips, bread sales tips
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| If angels pull triggers, hammers hit pens
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| Kings hit the cells, then bullets start to spin
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| The gun it extends, and the barrel throw flames
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| You should never rob a black boy, we pop that thing
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| Fuck biz, fuck jackas, fuck these scandalous ass hoes
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| SK’s, AK’s, AR’s, catacombs
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| We done beating the window, flame matching the tempo
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| Flames dancing, with the front-end of my reload
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| Rigging and frustrated, blow what I come
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| I don’t want to kill you, but I ain’t the one
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| Take you tongue, catch yourself, you can speak at your own grave
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| Respect a nigga house, and don’t get caught in the wrong safe
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| More or less, nigga, watch what you say
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| You can kill your morals, like suicidal, but you speak out the day
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| And I’m stone-throwing snake, they want to break me
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| Tell 'em old plotting-ass niggas «come and face me»
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| See, or you’ll never have to chase me
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| Put that pistol to your fucking mouth, until you taste it
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| I’m waist-deep, violent waters, running in ocean wars
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| We ain’t skipping, shots tired, right outside your door
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| Knock on your window, like, «you gon' rob who?»
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| Bow-bow-bow! |
| Never land, never do |