| Uhh. |
| Yeahh
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| Rest In Peace Pimp C
|
| Fool
|
| Yeah, Uh
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| Some of my joints be tight, some of my joints be fucked up
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| But all my joints gon' smoke so G’s gon' get highed up
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| Fuck all that shit you talk
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| You ain’t got no Byzantine chain
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| Chutes & Ladders, Chevy’s — candy canes
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| Bitches tangled in my slang — pilot language
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| We assassinate them lames
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| Flash my high beams
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| Get the fuck up out our lane
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| Say Trade, I swear this shit going how we planned it
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| Less a couple niggas though, I ain’t really trippin' though
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| See 'em when we see 'em
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| Send 'em bottles and a couple hoes
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| Spread love is the Jet way
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| All day, me and my bitch ridin' to that Biggie
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| Up to Texas choppin' wit big Bun up out a meal ticket
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| Real niggas from my set know I still kick it
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| Others be like I don’t fuck with 'em
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| That’s why I don’t fuck with 'em
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| I don’t know why though, I ain’t ever fuck with 'em
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| Would never do that to 'em, if I came up with 'em
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| Well fuck niggas
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| We roll up bigger than you used to seein'
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| Smokin' em in places you ain’t used to bein'
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| This is trill nigga season
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| Real niggas eatin', scrap
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| Get the scraps if we leave em
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| Yeah
|
| Some of my joints be tight, some of my joints be fucked up
|
| But all my joints gon' smoke so G’s gon get highed up
|
| Some of my joints be tight, some of my joints be fucked up
|
| But all my joints gon' smoke so my bitches get highed up |