| Aiyo, when we writing, yo, shit is like the vice laws
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| Fighting everybody wet, Lex dog, vibe on biting necks
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| There goes the new hammer, microwave blamp, from the stove to the roads
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| Down in New Hampshire, brolic size, wallet guys
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| Frame broiled shotties, with the Ducati’s, my pockets is set
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| Now watch what you rep, I’ve been buying niggas heads
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| Wall crawler, Captain Caveman, in the hall scrawling
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| Money is stacked up, better than yours
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| Do with the rappers, clap niggas, slap 'em, and car jack 'em
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| Everything niggas is serving, is crack, what, preferebly Kelloggs
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| You just a goldmine, yup, cereal bowls of heroin
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| Yup, the Don Baron, it’s worth hundreds, say something
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| Niggas fronting while we doubling, pump 'em
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| And lay 'em right in front of the steps
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| The new Mark Cuban, Mavericks, we moving like Arabics
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| Faces is wrapped, crosses on like Catholics
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| Blend to the music, it’s all in the game
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| Riding through life in this fast lane, fast change
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| Ya’ll deal when the lights green, but when that light change
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| You gotta make a slight change, use your wipers
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| Cause it might rain, life’s a gamble like a dice game
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| Aiyo, I’m when I’m writing I be thinking like Donald Goines
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| Posted up on the strip, fishing like bitches hoeing
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| Blowing like Jesse Owens, run laps around these tracks
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| And I stay up in the hood like, weed and cracks
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| Damn right, I still pack the strap, duck if I whip it out
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| But if I whip it out, you’re people will be picking out
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| A coffin and a tombstone, park 'em in the graveyard
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| Prayers and a leap of faith, probably couldn’t save ya’ll
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| That’s the path of bravhearts, clap you in the hallway
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| Turn two o’s that soft, into three the hard way
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| Move the diesel all day, shut it down in night time
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| That’s when the undercovers buy, in night time
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| Move to the forefront, Ratch' had the store front
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| First I had two goals, now I got more front
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| Bitch I been G’d up, put a O in front of that
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| Keep them bitches ski’d up, blowing off each other’s back
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| Riding through life in this fast lane, fast change
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| Ya’ll deal when the lights green, but when that light change
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| You gotta make a slight change, use your wipers
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| Cause it might rain, life’s a gamble like a dice game
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| Heavy white ice, gold ornaments, hustle and life
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| Hustle and light, good wit the pill
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| Be at all the tournaments, stroll in the beach
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| Out in Luv Allah, we love all of ya’ll
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| Killah Hill, Staten Africa, rap massacre
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| Make a phone call, have niggas get at cha
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| Rat ya, two double nines in the back of the Acura, it’s a Don thing
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| Don King, Don bitches under the ring
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| We don’t ever sing, raps get cut in the bing
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| Posse up, see me the Beemer or Benz truck
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| Reppin' that W, it’s trouble for you
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| Knife through ya bubble goose, veterans loose, 39 on the deuce
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| Pick it up, stick it up, niggas is thinking to bust
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| Breaking these states for they cake, you know what it do
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| What’s up, Goldie? |
| Niggas wanna march, hanging wit Jody
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| Street Flavor click, roll thicker than shit
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| We the upmost, faggot niggas get bitched
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| Smacked wit the toast, crackin' the line in the coke
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| Niggas’ll cutthroat, cutthroat, infered on top of the scope
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| Crack in the dial, mixed with soap, Killah Island… |