| My scrilla' my paper my scratch, my scrilla' my paper my scratch
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| My hookas my bitches, my batch, my hookas my bitches, my batch
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| My peppa, my pistols, my straps, my peppa my pistols my straps
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| My oozies, my choppas my gats, my oozies my choppas my gats
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| The wires the taps the traps
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| Po-po got me twisted how can us hustlas maintain and relax
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| When these killas out here snitchin' bendin' conas fa cova'
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| Just remember tell my motha' I love her, I love her
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| On top of that the I the r the s
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| Police station lookin' fo' me got a warrant out fo' my arrest
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| Fo' tax evasion, fake identification
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| Up under alias number skipped bail
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| Now I’m hidin' from the bounty hunter man I ain’t neva' went to jail
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| An' told some stuff
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| Vallejo didn’t raise no powder puff
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| When I see 'em I’m blastin' I’m dumpin' make believers
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| Make somebody gon' mind somethin' newspaper readers
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| Can you do me a favor an' ask yo' neighbor
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| Did he blast first an' ask questions later
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| I betcha they tell ya I did such a wicked ass earthling
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| Why did you kidnap that little kid, man I wasn’t gonna hurt him
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| Gotta git it, gotta git gone, git on out
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| Gotta git it, gotta git gone, git on out
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| Gotta git it, gotta git gone, git on out
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| Gotta git it, gotta git gone, git on out
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| The highs the speeds the chases, the relays the laps the races
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| My stuggle, my hustle, my pain, my purpose, my vision, my aim
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| After ditchin' an' dodgin' the rolla
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| I found myself in South Dakota
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| All by myself grindin' an' runnin' the block
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| Hustlin' an' slangin' them rocks
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| Perkin' an' listen to pac switchin' locations an' spots
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| Greasin' an' cleanin' my Glocks
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| Cookin' an' throwin' away pots
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| Coppin' an' orderin' chops
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| Sewin' an' stitchin' up cock
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| Scheming an' plottin' my knots
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| Pajamas an' sock home invasion an' kickin' locks
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| Jackin' an' robbin' gankin' niggas tyin' 'em up
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| An' makin' 'em watch me fuck they botch
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| Servin' flour in a drought
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| I’m in the hot seat anyhow plus I been done struck out
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| Already it’s heavy I’m hurtin'
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| Two nights ago ran upon the wrong person
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| Pulled out his lead and aimed it fo' my head
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| Instead it hit me in my leg burstin'
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| Who got a band-aid
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| Can’t go see a surgeon cause I ain’t on medicaid or should I say medical
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| I’m in this pal for quite sometime
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| Now I been wanted for a little while
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| Somebody dropped a dime an' I was
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| Gotta git it, gotta git gone, git on out
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| Gotta git it, gotta git gone, git on out
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| Gotta git it, gotta git gone, git on out
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| Gotta git it, gotta git gone, git on out
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| The highs the speeds the chases, the relays the laps the races
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| My struggle, my hustle, my pain, my purpose, my vision, my aim
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| The grays the hounds the bussies
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| Surplus camourflage in the middle somewhere in Kentucky
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| Way out of dodge lost a little weight but I used to be chubby nigga
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| Stressin' poppin' pills
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| Takin' more than anti-depressants I got the chills
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| Tryin' to get away from them fuzz and pheasants teachin' lessons
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| Got mo' scrilla' than I done count blessings
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| Since I was hills the smithins the slugs the wessons
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| Engine block gettin' cracked with some of them 355 them 7's
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| Ya get mopped as far as weapons
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| I ain’t neva been no sucka in life
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| Poked an' m-mate in the stomach wit a number twice
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| Fuckin' around when they brought me down to be exact
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| On the streets I’m nothin' but up in here
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| I’m under dat act
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| Gotta git it, gotta git gone, git on out
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| Gotta git it, gotta git gone, git on out
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| Gotta git it, gotta git gone, git on out
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| Gotta git it. |
| gotta git gone, git on out
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| The highs the speeds thew chases, the relays the laps the races
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| My struggle, my hustle, my pain, my purpose, my vision, my aim |