| 10 years…
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| Yo the sun don’t shine forever but as long as it’s here then we might as well
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| shine togeher
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| Better now than never business before pleasure
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| P-Diddy and the Fam, who you know do it better?
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| Yeah right, no matter what, we air tight
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| So when you hear somethin, make sure you hear it right
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| Don’t make a ass outta yourself, by assumin
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| My music keeps you movin, what are you provin?
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| You know that I’m two levels above you baby
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| Hug me baby, I’ma make you love me baby
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| It’s ten years and we still runnin this motherfucker
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| Yeah!
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| One
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| As we procede to give you what you need!
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| One… Two!
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| It’s all fucked up now!
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| Yo!
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| What the fuck yaw gonna do now?
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| Yo, we can’t stay alive forever
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| So if shit hit the fan then we might as well die together
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| I’m high as ever, more hoes and more cheddar
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| G-Unit move around wit them pounds and berreta’s
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| Yea faggot, if I want it I’m gon' have it
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| Regardless if it’s handed to me or I gotta grab it
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| Don’t make a ass outta yaself tryin to stop me
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| I’m cocky, raps rocky, nigga you sloppy
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| You know that I’m, 8 levels above you nigga
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| I’ll club you nigga, I never heard of you nigga, ugly nigga
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| I’m the wrong one to provoke
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| And rattin on niggas is only gon' leave you smoke
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| So the only thing left now is toast for these cowrads
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| I got no friends, fuck most of these cowards
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| They pop shit 'till we start approaching these cowards
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| While we lay around dollars, they lay around flowers
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| In The Commision, you ask for permission to hit em
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| He don’t like me, him and wild wifey was wit em
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| You heard of us, the murderers, most shady
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| Been on the low lately, the feds hate me
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| The son of Satan, they say my killin’s too blatant
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| You hesitatin, I’m in your mama crib waitin
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| Duct tapin, your fam destiny
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| Lays in my hands, gat lays in my waist
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| Francis, M to the iz-H phenominal
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| Gun rest under your vest by the abdominal
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| Rhyme a few bars so I can buy a few cars
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| And I kick a few flows so I can pimp a few hoes
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| Excellence is my presence, never tense
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| Never hesitant, leave a nigga bent real quick
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| Real sick, brawl nights, I perform like Mike
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| Anyone -- Tyson, Jordan, Jackson
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| Action, pack guns, ridiculous
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| And I’m, quick to bust, if my ends you touch
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| Kids or girl you touch, in this world I clutch
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| Two auto-matoes, used to call me fatso
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| Now you call me Castro, my rap flows
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| Militant, y’all faggots ain’t killin shit
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| Ooops Cristal keep spillin shit, you overdid it homes
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| You in the danger zone, you shouldn’t be alone
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| Hold hands and say it like me
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| The most shady, Frankie baby, fantastic
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| Graphic, tryin to make dough, like Jurassic
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| Park did quick to spark kids who start shit
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| See me, only me
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| The Underboss of this holocaust
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| Truly yours, Frank White
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| We got the real live shit from front to back
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| To my niggas in the world, where the fuck you at?
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| Where my niggas is at?
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| Where the fuck my bitches at?
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| Where my bitches is at?
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| You know it can’t stay dark for long
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| They say it’s darkest before the dawn
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| Cars before the storm
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| I’m happy makes a bethus now preaching the song
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| I can see B.I. |
| rocking the Sean John yeah right
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| This is for life afters like B.I. |
| Frank White
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| Yo Bad Boy for life
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| No matter what the public say we gon prove
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| There ain’t another MC who could feel ya shoes
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| Cuz Biggie Smalls is the illest
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| Realest my stones and killas got homes and villas
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| Overseas and what was me I find out
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| Who found out other MCs been tryin to find ya route
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| This illman MC used to be on other shit
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| Took home «Life after Death» and they studied it
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| Listened to the double disk
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| Now they all spit like they all legit
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| Frank tell how we did!
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| We got the shit, Mac tight, brass knuckles and flashlights
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| The heaters in the two-seaters, with two midas
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| Senoritas, kiss rings when you meet us
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| P-Diddy run the city, show no pity
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| I’m the witty one, Frank’s the crook from the Brook'
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| Matty broke the neck of your coke connect
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| No respect squeeze off til all y’all diminish
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| Shootouts for twenty minutes, until we finish
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| Venice took the loot, escaped, in the Coupe
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| Break bread, with the kiss, Peniro, sheek loops
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| Black Rob joined the mob, it ain’t no replacin him |
| Niggas step up, we just macin them
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| Placin them in funerals, criminals turned aroused
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| The Brick City, nobody come off like P-Diddy
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| Businesswise, I play men
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| Hide money on the Island Cayman, y’all just betray men
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| You screamin, I position, competition
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| Nother day in the life of the Comission
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| I got a intergangstress who argue and steams wit reefer
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| And who flip when I call a bitch like she Queen Latifah
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| Not all the vehicle’s is long enough to stash the streetsweeper
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| This shit can get uglier than the Master P sneaker
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| We slidin through the ruckus, wit prada on the chuckus
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| Soon as spring break ho’s home from college wanna fuck us
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| I ain’t here to drop knowledge on you suckas
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| I’ll sick rottweiler’s on you fuckas, cops followin to cuff us
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| Top dollars to discuss this, whole lotta zeros
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| When it comes to paper I blow a soul outta aero
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| I’ma break before I lay floor burried
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| Besides, every rapper ain’t a star, nigga plad ain’t burberry
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| You can’t tame Lloyd, smokin by the big screen
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| You changin the channel looks like I’m playin the game boy
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| I know to watch botherin ya vision
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| You reach and I’ll put a dot on ya head like it’s part of yo religion
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| Why party wit a pigeon?
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| I’m blowin a 10 cuz Bush handin flyers for a party in a prison
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| I’m in the gucci vest wit the green and red straps
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| I’m the last rapper to scare niggas since Craig Mack
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| Now every morning’s a fast start
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| And there ain’t problem gettin dressed cuz my closet got more aisles than
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| pathmark
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| Run, when we startin a wave
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| And leave wit 12 shells in ya mouth like a carton of eggs
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| I’m the young pimp pardon my age
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| I don’t got long hair but if I did she be partin my braids
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| Niggas find what club they at
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| Take 'em wit us, and run a train on 'em like a subway mac
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| Get advances from grey Acura
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| See these record labels got most artists gettin fucked like the gay rappa'
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| I go the college on the tour
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| I’m goin down in history nigga, next to Wallace and Shakur
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| I keep ya ammo clean, text polished in the drawer
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| Camera’s by the hamper that mine into the floor
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| By now, you probably heard of me
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| Fresh outta surgery, flashy as a fuck, you gon' have to murder me
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| Burglary, I’m leavin wit cha nike’s bergendy, White T, bergendy
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| You match now, back down
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| Niggas love to hate you, but love you when you disappear
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| Catch me on the boat wit weed smoke and fishing gear
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| Heavy when I toke, C notes from different years
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| Besly in the robe, re-motes for liftin chairs
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| You ain’t rich, but we glad to snatch ya
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| I send cars to crib like I’m a cab dispatcha
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| You better off wit ya stupid guys, lookin for a coupe to drive
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| You ain’t gettin nuttin but ya french fries supersized
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| It’s a damn shame y’all still local
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| I’m in a million dollar studio layin my vocals
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| Nigga
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| >We got the real live shit from front to back
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| To my niggas in the world, where the fuck you at?
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| Where my niggas is at?
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| Where the fuck my bitches at?
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| Where my bitches is at?
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| Who got the real live shit!
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| Fuck yaw niggas wanna do? |