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| Tah Murdah 2001 Murda I.N.C. |
| motherfucker
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| Mr. Fingaz got beats
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| Gangsta, gangsta
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| Uhh, uhh, gangsta, gangsta
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| Murda, murda, gangsta, gangsta
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| Fuck y’all niggaz talkin' about?
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| Uhh, uhh, gangsta, gangsta
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| Uhh, uhh, uhh, yeah, this is how we do
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| Yeah, 2001
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| 2001 nigga, check this shit
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| Now everybody just bounce, bounce
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| My Pov City hustlers, bounce, bounce
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| All my hood slimies, and Prada mamis
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| See how we fall off in the club, its nuttin' but love
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| Plenty bottles of skimy twisted and stick bud
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| And it fifty-fifty love, all across the board dog
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| Gully respect Gully never floss for broads
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| Or, get out of my character when she back it up
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| And after somethin' good performs, I’ll have you get up on it
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| Ma, I’ll give it how you want it, make you a new lady
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| Coke’ll open her crazy, now all day she two way me
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| Type of shit like «Ohh baby», everything you do is gravy
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| And models I’m hittin' lately, so all you can do is hate me
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| Stare me down and screw face me, hype ya man up to lace me
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| C’mon, all y’all buttersoft, sweeter then tasties
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| My hands grip two hammers, double action
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| Prime time, nigga minus the actin'
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| Now get ya muthafuckin' hands up, high, touch the sky
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| And if you holdin' weight, nigga get it up
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| Mamis in the club lookin' right, oh you ain’t spendin' the night?
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| Give her the pin number, mami hit me up
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| We can SkyTel tag until I get you in the back of the Jag
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| After we burn a bag, I’ma hit the guts
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| Oh you a baller? |
| Then ball to this
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| My pimps, gangstas, and dogs I ain’t mad at you player, play on
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| Now hear me holla out gangsta, gangsta
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| Paper chaser, I love the cake
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| And petit mamis with the coke bottle shape
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| So keep shakin' that money maker, ma-ma I can’t hate ya
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| Its a cold world, ol' girl, so take advice from a pimp
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| What I’m spittin' is venomus ism listen
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| When the chrome rims glistenin', on the 'llac truck
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| Traffic get backed up, we in this, cloud of smoke from spinach
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| Niggaz ain’t big enough to go some rounds or minutes
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| I’m heavyweight, and I ain’t speakin' 'bout pounds in fitness
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| Use to spit off for sport but now its business
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| When you see me holla like you know me and I ain’t scared homie
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| Picked up the mic, and put down the gats and yo
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| Now I rap and blow, with a fire acid flow
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| You know, and dog I ain’t gotta repeat it
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| Right in front of ya eyes, ya see it, the best kept secret
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| Now get ya muthafuckin' hands up, high, touch the sky
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| And if you holdin' weight, nigga get it up
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| Mamis in the club lookin' right; |
| oh you ain’t spendin' the night?
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| Give her the pin number, mami hit me up
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| We can SkyTel tag until I get you in the back of the Jag
|
| After we burn a bag, I’ma hit the guts
|
| Oh you a baller? |
| Then ball to this
|
| My pimps, gangstas, and dogs I ain’t mad at you player, play on
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| Now everybody just ride
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| If you sittin' on dubs, in that big body rollin' a bud
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| Then get high, uhh, get it crunk
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| Murda, gangster love
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| Now you know its only right and necessary
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| That I smash Freddy, after spittin' heavy, bars
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| Methaphors god, my shit is deadly
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| Swift and better believe, I’m focused now
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| Feed you to the vultures, murderous poster child
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| Click, clak, blaow, he pound sure to drop
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| Then catch me full of that hall or, blowin' on them poppers
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| But love, livin' and, love them, thug, women
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| Who will hustle and grind when its hard times
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| Playa, we came in this game with no gimmicks
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| You’re finished, diminished ya frame get holes in it
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| Straight business and No Limits, like Master P
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| So if you bout that, scrilla my nilla then stack them cheese
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| And twist up, burn the vanilla dutch, we live it up
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| No bread, dick and Big Red we givin' sluts
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| I’m just a villian, willin' to kill for that pot of gold
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| You gotta know, it’s all for the dough
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| Now get ya muthafuckin' hands up, high, touch the sky
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| And if you holdin' weight, nigga get it up
|
| Mamis in the club lookin' right; |
| oh you ain’t spendin' the night?
|
| Give her the pin number, mami hit me up
|
| We can SkyTel tag until I get you in the back of the Jag
|
| After we burn a bag, I’ma hit the guts
|
| Oh you a baller? |
| Then ball to this
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| My pimps, gangstas, and dogs I ain’t mad
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| At you player, play on, play on
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| Yeah, its a playa event nigga
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| All my players ya heard me
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| Pov City nigga, yeah, uhh
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| Heart of the grungy, cheddar boys, mercy
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| Yeah, it’s goin' down nigga
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| 2001, murda, murda
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| Uh, uh, gangsta, gangsta |