| I heard that nigga Capone’s home yo… word to Motha. |
| that nigga Nore'
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| doin’his mothafuckin’thing…thugged out
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| entertainment… knowwhatI'msayin'?, niggas still in the streets… Ill
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| Will, Braveheart nigga, there’s a thin line between streets and
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| business.so we gotta have balance and be easy…
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| Verse 1: (Nas)
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| I heard you fags wanna catch me off guard
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| put Tecks to my heart, the death of Escobar
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| under your breath, whispers in the dark
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| I hear it 'cause the street ain’t loyal to choose sides
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| prepare for the beef, whoever lose dies
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| rich and I’m thuggin'
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| I can’t trust nothin', this bitch that I’m fuckin'
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| this clip that I’m bustin’could jam in my fist
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| look at my hand, finger pussy with expensive rings
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| cut coke cookies, wrote poetry
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| and broke noses B.
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| the voice from Heaven
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| I’m God sent, of course a legend
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| this is part 1, speak my sermon, the hood reverand
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| blunted eyes red
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| C-Class, a Hundred times Five Red
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| CD’s blast, speed fast, haters drop dead
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| I’m gorgeous
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| black Goddess flip the arm rest, flip the cordless
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| her body stacks the best, ass is flawless
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| finally the long awaited shit, ghetto people
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| the sequel
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| Nas, CNN, nobody’s equal.
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| Yo, Be easy
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| keep the club off the heezy
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| straight thugs in the back, drink creezy
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| be easy, but we still smoke treezy
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| see us rippin’the shows with thugged eezy.
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| Verse 2: (Capone)
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| Niggas picked me the boss
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| Ricky Ross
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| Lex Two-Fifty Horse power, click and devour the source
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| if it’s flour then swallow your loss
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| I cock Fours, kick in Poppi’s doors
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| all for the cash and the cause
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| niggas break big fractions of laws
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| so what, we got it sewn up, smack every cat on the board
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| I speak the truth, guns spit at you, shakin’my palm
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| it’s pitiful, wavin’my wand
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| The Don, a Hundred follow me like Farrakhan
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| chasin’my Henny, embrace Benny’s
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| it’s quite Frank, my niggas 'll kill, never waste a Penny
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| money stay well invested
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| feel the weight on my necklace
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| when death is too close flip the next shit
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| thug the game out
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| bust biscuits, pull the Range out
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| public enemy, QueensBridge where I hang out
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| sweet scent of weed I wear like a fragrance
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| my energy’s kinetic, mind power type ancient.
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| Verse 3: (Noreaga)
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| I see death through the corner, die, kingdom come
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| Six 500's, pull up right in front of the slum
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| Sticky green fingers soldiers of the great God
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| Clarence spoke to the poor but he lived in Oz An ill hook like Roy Jones, I’m a street corner bastard
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| and crush weed with the hashish
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| Bandana head dome wrapped
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| Caddy trucks with the grills and the chrome snaps
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| I’m on point like Al Sharpton, come peep the M.U. |
| marksman
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| The S-Class is shittin’on your weak Datsun
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| Graffiti written on the Bible, my life is wicked
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| I see dead corpses, and Rolls Royces
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| Put your heart on your lap, listen you hear voices
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| My whole persona is the drama and to smoke skama
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| I can lift it up, Willy what in front of your slut
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| Money bustin out my pocket, your bank is stopped |