| We the murderers, pimps plus thugs
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| We the murderers, pimps plus thugs
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| We the murderers, pimps plus thugs
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| We the murderers, murderers, murderers
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| Growing up in the ghetto
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| With that New York state of mind
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| I realized that night, that my future was crime
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| Hustlin dimes was my trademark
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| Soon as that blunt spark
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| I, inhale, exhale, took my next sale
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| Daily routine, get up, wash ass, get cream
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| Cop that first tear on my slick sixteen
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| I seen more bricks and cash and shit
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| Got greedy, and weed up with that counterfit
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| Cuz Pa-pi's gettin sloppy, and kinda fiendly
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| Stupid nigga, you been trading thoughts with your enemy?
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| Murderous, grimey, from where? |
| Hollis Queens
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| Woodhull, got it all from thugs and fiends
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| I need cream, so I strap the nine to my waistline
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| Grabbin OZ, keys to the three
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| Hundred GS nigga
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| Bulletproof vest to eliminate stress
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| Ha, who the best?
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| Don’t get close to our side if you ain’t from New York
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| You screamin «Ride or Die» or «Pimp till you die»
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| You figurin you a murderer, put your guns in the sky
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| Make them see em, cuz every nigga we fuck with has heaters
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| Don’t get, stepped with these heaters when you hatin on these po-pos
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| Don’t think for one time Ja’s comin solo
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| It’s Do or Die, Chicago collabo
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| Neighborhood watch you from a block with a flock of thugs
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| Ready to show some love
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| Grippin with extra guns and clips
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| And worldwide all these niggas know we love that shit
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| How hard we hit, we put you in your darkest pits
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| It’s Do or Die and Ja Rule nigga
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| Murda for life
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| Can’t keep up with the paper chasin
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| Gonna run up with these Glocks and rob the basement
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| Two niggas with Glocks, cock, pop, drop, quit hastin
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| I’s put two in your bitch ass gettin hot with the casin
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| It’s kill or be killed in Chi recognize what you facin
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| Whores and pimps, hustlers, killers, and drug dealers
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| Since a shorty been hollerin seeds with a plug in
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| Two for ten, up on the block diamond cut griller
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| Be em or see em motherfuckers, be a ho skrilla
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| Iller noise state put through my blood
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| If niggas got love it’s in my blood
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| Run niggas spittin hollows that’s followin shit
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| And killin niggas that ain’t real, been hollerin shit
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| Better get gone, chrome by the hip bone
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| Hit domes like pickles, it’s not to sit on
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| Better get’cho pimp on 'for the clips get sticked home
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| Sit back til the tricks gone
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| Then flash through the hood like you misunderstood
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| Diamonds over get that wood
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| It’s all good see, low down four pound
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| Full clips for showdowns, smoke weed and throw down
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| Representin both towns, you don’t know now, better slow down
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| P-I-M-P flippin filty
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| Cream stream dream, Hennessy, tipsy
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| Theres blood for the true thug, puttin weight in the po-pub
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| It’s nuthin, sit down and shut up, roll like that
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| Then in the morn we ball like that |