| As long as DJ Scream right here
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| As long as Bigga Rankin right here
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| Frank White
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| The whole world needs to know
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| Doe B gon' live forever
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| Hey
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| I’m talkin' half time
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| H-Town, half a brick sh*t
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| Remix, in the drought
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| Get you rich sh*t
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| Who got it? |
| They got it, we yellin'
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| That hit a lick sh*t
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| Show a monkey ass n*gga
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| How a banana splits sh*t
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| Fifty rounds, hundred rounds
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| That’s that drum sh*t
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| Band practice
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| F*ck around and get your dome hit
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| By starin' at me
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| I’m paranoid like I’m on it
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| Sold so many bricks, I f*ck around
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| And make your home flip
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| Real estate
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| F*ck where you’re from, I’m from a realer state
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| Fish fillet, fish scale
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| Boy, that’s killer yay
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| Weigh your white
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| Then pull up on you with a pillowcase
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| And sell you some
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| You getting' money, nigga tell me something
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| Hey, ya’ll n*ggas gettin' money out there or what n*gga?
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| (N*ggas not gettin' no money, man)
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| Huh? |
| Let me know somethin', boy
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| (I don’t believe these n*ggas, brah)
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| Hey, I see you n*ggas
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| (Real talk!)
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| Hahaha! |
| You seem on sh*t for real though, n*gga (for real!)
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| On Ma!
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| I’m talkin' Circle K
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| Been straight, n*gga Court Street
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| Irene, sour Dees, n*gga O. G
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| Shop with me
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| All the real n*ggas know me
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| They f*ck with me
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| Ask about me, boy I got the streets
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| Stupid clientele got my name ringin' bells
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| Got a Cali plug for real
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| Say the word, he’s breakin' bails
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| I got birds, I got squares
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| Pull up on ya with some sh*t
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| Get caught with this, you gettin' an L
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| If you’re scared, say you’re scared
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| Every night I say my prayers
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| Cross my heart, hope they don’t tell
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| If you catch the wrong cell
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| You might end up in a cell
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| Cocaine paraphernal'
|
| Get your ass some long years
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| B*tch n*ggas never graduated
|
| Get more money than a mil
|
| B*tch it’s trap life!
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| What you n*ggas know about it?
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| Yea, act like it
|
| These n*ggas ain’t ‘bout no violence
|
| Talkin' ‘bout them killers
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| These n*ggas ain’t catchin' no bodies
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| Boy, you get your issue
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| I ain’t talkin' magazines either
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| A hundred pages
|
| I ain’t talkin' magazines neither
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| That AK sh*t
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| Everything we tote illegal
|
| That mayday sh*t
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| Let’s call it quits, these n*ggas evil
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| Cold turkey
|
| I’ll turn this b*tch to Thanksgiving
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| Back with no mercy
|
| Hot sh*t straight out the kitchen
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| Let it burn like Hershel
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| And that choppa got rhythm
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| It don’t skip a beat
|
| You laid up in a hospital
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| ‘Till your sh*t go bee-eee-p
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| F*ck n*gga, trick or treat!
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| In your house with the mask
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| Like it’s time to eat
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| Come on hurry with them bags
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| My lil' n*ggas starvin'
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| And they’re preyin' on a body
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| With no holy water
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| God damn, these n*ggas violent (sh*t!)
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| Yea
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| Come up off that, my n*gga
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| (Let me get that)
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| We have to take what’s ours, n*gga (huh?)
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| So whoever says they’ve got the street (who got the streets, n*gga?)
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| You know what I mean?
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| You need that, right now, A.S.A.P., n*gga (pronto!)
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| See me on television getting' money, n*gga
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| This sh*t right here (haha!)
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| They ain’t gon' like this sh*t
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| (On my life?), n*gga
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| Hey! |