| Yellowstone in the house, Dead End in the house uh
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| Mobstyle, know the radio ain’t gon like this one here
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| Heeey (heeey), (move to the flo')
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| If you ain’t getting gangsta with it, (move to the do')
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| Hooo (hooo), you moving it slow
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| (work with it lil' mama, and move it some mo')
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| I said heeey, when we came into play
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| Gone, so why you turn midnight to mid-day
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| By the way, you know we got them new J’s on
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| Body rocking, like we just heard my 2-way song
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| Been getting twisted and glisted, for two days long
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| Can’t see shit, but I can hear 'em saying (ooh they gone)
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| Ooh they wrong, for coming up in here like that
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| Hold up stop rewind, bring that shit back
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| You act like, you ain’t buzzing a little
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| What you got in your cup, ain’t buzzing a little
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| They way we pulled up in candy cars, it looked like a dozen of Skittles
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| And lil' mama you should be focused, on how I’ma cut up your middle
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| And I know, the chain is too chromey and too crushy
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| As if I slam dunked it, in a frozen blue slushy
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| That’s when she said, (you must be that C. Ward kid)
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| Known for spitting flows, and acting retarded I said
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| I get gangsta with it, peep a G I be
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| Pulling every dime I see, in V.I.P
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| Attitude Leila Ali, with a J-Lo face
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| Chest size and thighs, with a J-Lo waist
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| Tempo at a slow pace, I need it fast
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| Hand attacks the ass, the other attacks the glass
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| For the Belvedere, Cristal and Cuervo shots
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| Max’s, Simple Visi I play those lots
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| Ice connected to my body, like Lego blocks
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| All shapes colors and sizes, like Lego blocks
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| They so hot who is that, Kyleon and his crew
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| With Whodi, hollin' at lil' mama on the phone in the blue
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| Go to the bar purchase the Yak, and stomp to the back
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| It’s crunk in the back, there’s hoes bout a bunch in the back
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| Club full of thugs and them gangstas, from the front to the back
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| Hey lil' mama, let me see ya make it jump from the back and say
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| I hopped out, the red six
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| Fa sho you could tell the way I prevail, I’m bout my bread sticks
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| Females y’all call chickenheads, we call head-chicks
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| And they only boppers, cause they heard we bled bricks
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| Splitting up O’s, hitting them licks
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| Serving the do’s, trying to get them a fix
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| But other than that, I’m really just a lovable cat
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| Cause your main bitch love it, when I’m up in her cat
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| Because of the fact, I got mo' game than Coach K
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| And could clear the spot out, like a can of roach spray
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| With the force of a, Yellowstone lyrical sorcerer
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| I spit the kind of flames, that’ll torture ya now say |