| Put your stones in dust and worn, South Coast raised and born
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| Have a place you get broke loose and catch the Texas long horn
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| Up that ass, when I blast, claimin' South East H-Town
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| Bakin' cakes stackin' hate makin' playahaters break down
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| If you’re lookin' for an exit, cause Houston on the wreck shit
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| T-e-x-a-s is the state you don’t mess wit
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| Cock the tech, spit, and check shit to vest
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| Where respect shit from north to east
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| Well connected with the west
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| It’s the 3rd Coast creepin' 'round the corner
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| Rockin' birds, sippin' serb, puffin' marijuana
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| Screwed-Up Click roll deep and we kick it Down South
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| Pop the lip, try to trip, get you with the sawed off
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| Find your boy, bring the north twelve Atlant' on the map
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| Bailin' through the Texas street with my hand on my strap
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| Every hour on the hour born doubtin' bout rexis
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| Leaving you chestless if you’re vestless, don’t mess wit Texas
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| Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
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| Texas, that’s us, and in glocks we trust, cause uh
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| Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
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| Glock 9's we bust and there’s no fucking wit us, cause uh
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| Marsh shit don’t thrill me, haters wanna kill me
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| Lil' Keke representin' Texas, so try to feel me
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| Marsh shit don’t thrill me, haters wanna kill me
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| Southside Houston, Texas, so try to feel me
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| Cross the line at the point, to this lonestar state
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| And create drastic c’s, lil' the kid can’t make
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| Bustin' sounds out in the Talon to this world-wide tower
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| Take myself and then I bust, the other 9 don’t matter
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| Ain’t no wustle in Calies I used to think that was slow
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| It’s automatics that’ll catch you at this Texan’s front do'
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| Lifestyles like Frank White, facin' Kapone
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| Stackin' cheese, takin' my keys, when you went through the zone
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| Tell your colleage you won’t want this
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| North sides took over
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| 9 times out of 10 I makin' it out, I doubt it
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| Fairy tales and riddles, cut you sweet down the middle
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| Fill in with weed to succeed how I’m plottin' to kill ya
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| Cowboys and neeyas, gangbangers and dopeslangers
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| Pull the Southern angle glock 2−1 in the chamber
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| So Lisa Lee, to the publicist who not try test us
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| You find yourself restless tryin' to fuck with Texas
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| Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
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| Texas, that’s us, and in glocks we trust, cause uh
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| Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
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| Glock 9's we bust and there’s no fucking wit us, cause uh
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| Marsh shit don’t thrill me, haters wanna kill me
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| Lil' Keke representin' Texas, so try to feel me
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| Marsh shit don’t thrill me, haters wanna kill me
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| Southside Houston, Texas, so try to feel me
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| Feel the ill, yield the yield, Texas hands no fear
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| Strapped with full metal gear, makin' it loud and clear
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| Takin' advantage, you can’t manage, I’m a Southside avouce
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| So lay it down, or be found, as the chains of massacre
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| I’m askin' ya to chill, better yet try to feel
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| Stackin' mills down the kilo, gang related for real
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| Here’s the deal, 9 to 10, everythang I want even
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| If I’m in then you spin, here’s the key to the Benz
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| Fuck a friend in this game, cause it’s all about greed
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| Tech 9, red beam, and a murderin' team
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| Yeah we’re close to the border so won’t you put in your order
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| Pound of weed, chug of water, half a chicken or quarter
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| Puffin' harder at the bottom cause we gainin' respect
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| Might check, I select, soly Texas connected
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| You respected Ke to hate, but I set it all straight
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| Brain or chest plate, it’s the lonestar state
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| Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
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| Texas, that’s us, and in glocks we trust, cause uh
|
| Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
|
| Glock 9's we bust and there’s no fucking wit us, cause uh
|
| Marsh shit don’t thrill me, haters wanna kill me
|
| Lil' Keke representin' Texas, so try to feel me
|
| Marsh shit don’t thrill me, haters wanna kill me
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| Southside Houston, Texas, so try to feel me |