| You know how it go. |
| You know how it go
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| Uh-huh, uh-huh
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| There’s many out there
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| Many duplicate faggots
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| Check this shit, son
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| No question. |
| You know how it go, son
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| Ice Water, Ice Water
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| Infinite gangsta shit, check it out
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| In-stoppable, in-touchable, you couldn’t flex on me
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| If you was right next to me
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| And you wanted to (c'mon)
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| I take you fuckin' bullets — let’s do this
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| P is deadly, he’s just like his music
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| Come through like the Taliban unit
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| Catch me by myself, I’m only sayin' bullshit
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| I don’t switch up, I won’t change
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| You gonn' have to catch my body to sell my brain
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| An' that’s simply the truth
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| Niggas wanna flip on me, we makin' the news
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| And hopefully, I’ll be makin' it home
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| But if not, it really makes me no difference, it’s whatever, yo
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| Fear’s not an option, man that shit is childish
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| Squeeze your gun, just make sure I’m finished
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| My style is Porsches and XL trucks
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| But my presence alone’ll make the good girls fuck
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| I see they wanna rhyme just like P
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| They wanna copy off me, bite my jewelry
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| Used to scream on they song
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| Now they rhyme calm
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| Takin' pieces of my verse like I care
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| Y’all, they wanna be, just like the Mobb
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| They wanna observe us, bite our style of dress
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| Bite our style of rap. |
| I see all of that
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| Aiyyo, aiyyo
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| Shoebox with nothin' but bread
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| The lead fly out the magnet
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| Dragged it by his brain and his leg
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| Where I’m from, niggas is dead
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| But only bury light niggas, some that take get outta dead
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| I live like a champ, gun king, thumb ring
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| The joint that Kobe gave his girl, that’s my son, bling
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| Sooner or later it’s war
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| How many good niggas die? |
| That’s the meaning of New York
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| A powerful armour, ration it, all this is tailor made stuff
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| That’s me fuckin' with crackers
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| Chef got a iller mood, real deal dude
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| A hundred bar marksman, shoot up the booth and move
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| What you wann' do, lose?
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| I bet all my niggas right now be stealin' ya food
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| We come from where the babies get blessed, yes
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| This my proposal: come and buy haircut’s fresh
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| I see they wanna rhyme just like Rae
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| They wanna cop me all day, watch me in the Mae
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| Flyin' on my way to the bank
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| Yellin' «Goodness gracious, the hood won’t even say thanks»
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| But I got a trick for niggas
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| Cause when these heads get up, it’s no friends, just business
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| Problem? |
| Meet me in the yard
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| The Ice Water clique with a hundred bars, let’s get involved
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| Two-three, I’m back out with big Kay Slay
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| New place here, muh’fuckers screw up his face
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| You wanna hate? |
| I’m alive, nigga, grew to embrace
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| All the tribes and tribulations, only few do escape
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| Been through the chase, the incriminatin', the case
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| No feel, the cold steel still the weight in my waist
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| One of the great, eighty-eight, young with cake
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| Duffel bag full of hustle, cash, gun in the safe
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| Some would relate, others wanted rap replaced
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| The nigga’s style is how they know me now, but nothin' is play
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| Involved in violence heavily, indirect
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| In car low, with it tinted up, in our reps
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| Been large before niggas had to guard they chest
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| Before them boys in L.A. put The God to rest
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| B.I.G. |
| Get money, or starve to death (Yep)
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| Got killers among me, dodgin' the rest
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| Got my (?) in the hood, disregardin' the press
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| No disrespect, I’m a brother so pardon my (?)
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| Blood blower, rep for my boy to follower
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| She the thrower, the whole jail house roust, they all know her
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| More soldiers, it’s a war in the game
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| Some niggas crossed over, nothin' really more to explain
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| And niggas can’t be like me, I’m A. Z
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| I move inconspicously, I’m on point
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| And beefin' ain’t a part of my style
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| I’m a boss, player, mastered the art of morale
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| Man of respect, this war when I handle the check
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| But behind jail walls I’m like Hannibal Lec'
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| Motherfuckers! |