| It’s that shit right here
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| Dollar bill dreams
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| My nigga Jag, Cassidy
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| Chubby Swag Jag
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| Mayhem Music nigga
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| Cassidy, the hustla
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| And I’ve got my man ARAb, top goon of Philly
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| DJ Thorough
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| It’s Mayhem Music
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| Look, on my mama he a basic chillin'
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| Heard he in the streets, he dealin' flip more, Rick the villain
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| Big chief, I be smokin' in my TB chillin'
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| My little goon just caught a body but at least he killin'
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| For show the nicest part bullets rip your spine apart
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| Ice got me drawning, niggas clowinin'. |
| Watch us clumb the charts
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| Oh yea, I grind with sharks. |
| I was with 'em last night
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| Come to things, I’m the one they come to with the glass pipes
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| Stackin' on my stacks just so I can get my cash right
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| While with the coka, runnin' miles on my mass pipe
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| But I don’t double them. |
| I don’t got a Maybach
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| Soon as niggas spend I’m thinkin' what niggas could make back
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| Hit up Abby, I sent him 2, he send me 8 back
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| Gorilla, where my apes at? |
| I’ll rock you nigga asap
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| Niggas is jokin', somebody told me makes back
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| Well, tell me where the cake at. |
| The jews and the safe at
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| The train, A clap. |
| I’m ridin' with fats that don’t slip
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| You talkin' out the side of your neck, blaw
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| My whole team workin', I come for the cream cousin
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| We see you fakin', I see you straight like I’m mean muggin'
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| Yea, I’ll be bustin' in my sleep like I’m dream fuckin'
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| The smoke comin' out the barrow like a steam oven
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| I’ll be rippin' the pipe hard, the stiff in the rod
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| That’s why my trips to the night, yea, I be shippin' the blocks
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| I’m mad happy, I’m filled with punches, I’m Jag happy
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| Couldn’t cut it in school but now I’m stab happy
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| And now I’ve got the bad bitches getting mad at me
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| Everything cost, gotta pay me just to grab at me
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| Got to the bak and the teller throwin' bags at me
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| Car lot, got the car, dealer throwin' Jags at me
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| We on that new shit, rain man in the booth seat
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| Work in the trunk like a roo sip, we too thick
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| I’m runnin' like bad tiers, been workin' on mad tier
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| Jag fired, got the Family Guy on, it’s Quagmire
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| Nigga I’m scorchin', I’m past fire, lava land
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| I come from south central, the home of a lot of champs
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| I got a camp that I roam with and you got us amped
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| My name been up in the streets like I got a stamp
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| I’m too hot with the blue rocks in my diamond bag
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| We buzzin' like hornets, I’m ballin' out in my Cayman back
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| Yea, I’m getting the best A’s from some essays
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| Fuck my niggas workin', they grindin' til all their debts paid
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| Believe me, you could get greezy like fresh wades
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| Run up on you, pull a gun up on you long as my left leg
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| Y’all folk would get your jaw broke or your chest cage
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| I use the Gillette blade to cut you like a fresh fave
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| I’m always on my job, I never get no rest days
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| I’m sittin' on the yolk like a fresh laid nestle
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| I just cop the watch with the guap that I’ve just made
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| The racks C through like my watch got X ray
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| And I’m a sex slave for punta on cunta
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| Kent 8, I’m str8 like 6 o’clock but you’re Bengay
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| I don’t know how them other men play, I’ve gotta get guap
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| So I’ll be chopin' them plots like I’m a sensei
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| Comprende? |
| My clientele order quarters
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| I could make that white bitch swim in some boiling water
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| And I’ve got your chick open like a C section
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| Giving me neck and she don’t have no gag reflex
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| You’ll be tricking 'em bitches, I’m having free sex
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| My homies like remix, every night a freak fest
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| She a freak with some double D breasts
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| I’m fly as a pterodactyl, she eat the meat like a T-Rex
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| Fuck the BS. |
| I’m movin' that Ryan Seacrest
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| Grindin', shinin' like a diamond, VVS
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| Yea, I’m on the strip to the packet bong
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| Lookin' for a nigga I could empty out the ratchet on
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| I clap the drone on the same strip that I’m trapping on
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| Big kids get that in the same hits, they hat is on
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| I got a lot of diamonds and a lot of platinum on
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| Cause I rap and I made this track that I’m rappin' on
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| These rap cats I be snackin' on
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| Fuck it! |
| I’m cold blooded. |
| In the summer time I need a jacket on
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| Cats is dron, I’d better get Lucy Lu
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| I’m wearin' shoes, a Gucci belt and some Gucci shoes
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| I left this groupie with a coochie bruise |
| And a red ass cause I had trash with her coochie coo
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| Kiss my back side
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| I just bought a coup and made the back seat give the roof a piggy back ride
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| And the pink change colors like a kitty cat eye
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| That’s crack nigga, cause I’m the shit like crack litter
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| It’s a rap nigga
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| They say money make the world spin
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| I’m at the Louie store, spendin' like a whirlwind
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| And put your RA cryin' 'bout a girlfriend
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| I’d rather get the pyrex and drop your end
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| I get straight to the pussy, no foreplay
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| I was sittin' in jail for a short stay
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| And let that nigga show up on court day
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| I’m a show him a moon in broad day
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| AK street sweep, no duff pan
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| Cut grams, play the corners like a cut man
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| I left school, used to hang in the hookie house
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| I dropped all N word and pulled the cookie house
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| Big money, gotta count for 3 days
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| White girl, I make you drop like D Wade
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| Perk Lee, Sour D, you’re the pea haze
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| I had your girl tell me I’ve got 3 legs
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| I be with goons that take lives
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| 10 stacks to the ground when I shake dice
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| Bad bitch in the car, that’s straight dike
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| Fat ass with jaw like a great white
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| Night horror, move it all on the late night
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| 20 large in my drawer but I could take flight
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| I’m in LA, I’m a Road Runner
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| So fuck lap, I’m getting burned for the lil numbers
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| I’m a rich taker, I get big paper
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| I’ve got a Mag 32 for my brick playaz
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| Or EA’s just a set and I’m the dictator
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| 20 grand is a bet and that’s shit paper
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| I took a brown paper bag to the car lot
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| Drove off, red Jag and his hard top
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| I carry big guns thata make a car stop
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| Give my young’un 9 soft and get a mall shot
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| I used to walk around with hoes in my snickers
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| Now my block move night hoes in my sleep
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| Rolled from the streets and live in the line of fire
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| Pull up, bang on 'em, stock myer
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| I got nigga thata bring it to your mom homes
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| Hidin' in the bush, 30 shot, 9 off
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| So what your life like? |
| I showed you what mine about
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| Sellin' weed, rock bricks, I took 9 out
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| I get guap, I was raised on a drug block
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| I’m a goon, I keep a mass in the glove box
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| We was poor, we didn’t get to eat our grub hot
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| Now I’m at the car lot with a drugnot
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| Mayhem Music |