| One by one goes the bullets in the clip
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| Put it in yo gat, one in the chamber, now you’re ready to start shit
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| Heat comin from the barrel with a cloud of smoke
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| Dead bodies on the ground when these fools get loc’ed
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| It’s crazy in the street, pack some heat for a sucker
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| Mobbin through the town tryin to murder muthafuckas
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| 211's every day, liquor store and bank jobs
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| D boys gettin robbed, niggas get jacked for they mobbs
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| What’s a nigga to do, can’t survive without a gun
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| Snitches in the street, a nigga livin on the run
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| It’s fun but the pen is like smokin sess
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| Locked up on a 187'll make any nigga stress
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| You can wear a vest, it won’t stop two to the head
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| Shot you in your face and now your ass is better off dead
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| Talkin shit’ll get you smoked quick
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| No need to save a ho because they can’t live without dick
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| So I focus on the mail, Celly Cel
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| Ain’t no playa-hatin nigga, I got too much heat to sell
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| Fairy tales I never kick, it’s gangsterism in my veins
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| I kicked it with the O.G.'s pickin up on game:
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| Get your money on, fuck a bitch and get ghost
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| And keep one in the chamber for them fools that play you close
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| Them Sick Wid' It niggas keep makin the beat 4 yo azz
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| Ciggedy-Cel the figgedy-funky nigga got some heat 4 yo azz
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| Some heat 4 yo azz
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| Some heat 4 yo azz
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| Them Sick Wid' It nigga got the beat 4 yo azz
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| Some heat 4 yo azz
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| Some heat 4 yo azz
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| That nigga Celly Cel got some heat 4 yo azz
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| Them Sick Wid' It niggas got the beat up comin with some heat
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| Them federal muthafuckas tryin to get a buck in the streets
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| Every day a nigga wanna test yo skill
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| And playa-hatas hate to see a nigga comin real
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| The H-i-double l-s-i-d-e
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| Down with the P.G., niggas don’t wanna see me
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| Act a fuckin fool, shootin up the city
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| Happy on the trigger like my nigga Frank Nitty
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| Let’s get into the C thang, Hillside slang
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| It’s a Hillside thang from the Hillside, mang
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| Smokin em like a chronic sack, rollin em in a zag
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| Hittin em with the funk and zippin em up in bodybags
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| Everywhere I go fools get to actin crazy
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| Wanna let they nuts hang, thinkin they can fade me
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| So I keep a life-long mug on my face
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| Rollin with some heat, sippin on a straight lace
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| A high speed chase, bank it in the side pocket
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| Po-po's can’t fuck with the 350 rocket
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| Under my hood it’s all good when I’m on the gas
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| Checkin the rollers and the jackers that try to blast
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| Tricks of the trade already made, gangster got it down
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| Never panic under pressure when it’s goin down
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| Droppin a bomb, nigga, mobb beats 4 yo azz
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| Ciggedy-Cel the figgedy-funky nigga got some heat 4 yo azz
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| Breakin em off somethin proper for the nine-fo'
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| In the do' is some of that heat 4 yo azz, ho
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| Little hoes and the don’t-know's need to know
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| A nigga that flow who ain’t comin out the gate slow
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| Pimpin and and pandlin, ho handlin the whole bit
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| Killers move in silence, nigga, I don’t talk shit
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| I see them loudmouth niggas keep gettin dead
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| And the silent ones on 25 to life bids
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| You gotta pack some heat in the street, it’s goin down
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| If you ain’t down you better move to a square town
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| Niggas talk shit, drink and smoke weed up
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| Hit the county jail straight p.c.-ed up
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| You never know who really down till the funk jump
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| Same one that jump and the finger points at the punk
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| And your crew wasn’t down from the get-go
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| Don’t you know how that bitch-made nigga shit go?
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| Hollow points get to the point quicker
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| Cause talkin shit full of liquor thinkin that you’re sicker
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| Than the next nigga’ll get you full of bullet holes
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| Stayin on my toes and I just can’t let go
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| Of this mobb shit that I kick 4 yo azz
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| Ciggedy-Cel the figgedy-funky nigga got some heat 4 yo azz |