| Ooh weee, lets get it poppin daddy
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| Uh, yea, lets get it poppin mommy
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| Ayo the moral of the story is
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| We all can’t be gloriest
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| Some of us still on our grind (our grind)
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| Thats why I walk wit this chrome .9 (I'm fine)
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| 'Fore who eva want to cross this line Devine
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| Ayo Sheek on the street again, they know the big man is back
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| But niggas still don’t want to get down wit the heat again
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| You see me postin on the block, see these bitches on my cock
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| Seein you jumpin out the drop, sombody light up
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| I ain’t fuckin wit you homey, you ain’t smokin, you don’t know me
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| You can eat from my dutch, I’mma fuck 'em right up
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| You can catch me all Nelly in the blue red dully
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| Half crip half blood nigga west side
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| But you can catch me in New York on stage on the block
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| Or even visitin my niggas in the cage (lets ride)
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| Its somethin to do, lackin the fool, packin a .2, ok nigga
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| Me and my niggas on our New York shit
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| Me and my niggas on our West Coast shit
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| Me and my niggas on our down South shit
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| Yes, Midwest, Bay area
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| Lets go, uh
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| When niggas see me in the street they be like there go double O again
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| He got the .357 set and he 'bout to let it go again
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| Switchin up this flow again, grindin up for that dough again
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| Your mans in that set trip, I’m 'bout to put a hole in him
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| Hands up plus lip, let me see ya’ll niggas bang
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| Hit a nigga in his head make 'em come about this chain
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| Homey I’m the best at this shit
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| I’m the don wit a black mark about to tag up on this shit
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| That niggas perpin ya’ll ain’t seen no bricks
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| We movin grindin on a new city gettin jacked suckin ain’t no dick
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| And you can show if it ain’t no purp-b
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| Our buns be color of pookey lips when they gave 'em that turkey
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| Been a long time comin, but my time is due
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| Everythin is crystal clear but the shines is blue
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| Caught away seats in the gray CL
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| Wit so many weight in the trunk
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| If you don’t chop it the brick scale, nigga!
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| Ayo me and my young boy
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| Remind me of my self in early days sort of like a young hoy
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| Now I’m puffin in the Phantom out in St. Croix
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| Blue water two bitches and peep a toy
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| But don’t play it sweet, the heat is in the cooler
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| And the cooler got no bait for lunch meat
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| You done fuck see the morgue
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| You ain’t fuckin wit me dawg
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| Ayo Hood you ready, bark at your fawg
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| Ayo I’m 'bout coastal G
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| But I’m 'bout to east coast back where it 'pose to be
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| D-Block got the streets in a zip lock
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| And we bustin off 'em hammers
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| Like we don’t give a fuck 'bout hip-hop
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| So who wanna get popped, just give me the word
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| It won’t be occasion when I hit his ass wit this bird
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| Leave his ass on the curve
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| So you can put that yach on 'em
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| I’mma make this drug related and leave some crack on 'em |