| Unlreased track that ain’t nobody knew that Mac Dre did?
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| Yup
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| All this shit brand new
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| So I fuck with it then
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| My lips is like feet
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| Jump on the beat like a trampoline
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| I got heat, nigga, gasoline
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| A rap group, all in one body
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| Cutthoat, put a whole clip, all in somebody
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| I know gradibah, trust her a lil bit
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| Get sweated by the cops, just for some lil shit
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| S’finna spill this shit, get it outta me
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| Come straight for my pulmonary artery
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| Camaraderie, love for my comrades
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| They tote tough thangs and they ready for combat
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| That’s right, I’m bad, I’m bad
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| And you mad 'cause I got the bitch that you had
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| That’s too bad, nigga, step ya' game up
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| Ice ya chain up, puttin' ya thang up
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| Run ya gang up, lead 'em off the cliff
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| Smell that? |
| Nigga, get a whiff
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| Ice ya chain up, gather ya gang up
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| She call me with no doe, I hang up
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| So sav, do it all when we run around
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| Hoes know strip down when we come around
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| We make chips off this gift that we cursed with
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| Every time we do it, we do it with a purpose
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| Whatchu mad at, man, I’m a class act
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| Count stacks while I hit baby from the back
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| No need to get meaner
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| Oscar my Weiner
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| Yeah, 'em was tight
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| But she coulda came cleaner
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| I don’t play, nigga, I’m Mac Dre
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| I drop two albums on one day
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| I’ll pop two niggas with one K
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| I’ll knock two bitches and they won’t stray
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| You ok? |
| Lame, I’m the man
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| I know this game like the back of my hand
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| I call a grand an Iraqi soldier
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| Never sober and don’t get pulled over
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| From October to the end of September
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| I touch more mail than a return to sender
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| Stamp, my camp is nothin' but mean men
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| Ballers, shotcallers and kingpins
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| I’m nutty, dummy, trippy and psycho
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| And I just saved money switching to Geico
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| Ice ya chain up, gather ya gang up
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| She call me with no doe, I hang up
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| So sav, do it all when we run around
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| Hoes know strip down when we come around
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| We make chips off this gift that we cursed with
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| Every time we do it, we do it with a purpose
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| Whatchu mad at, man, I’m a class act
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| Count stacks while I hit baby from the back
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| A base with me, guaranteed three G’s
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| You get the playa price if you fuckin' with E. B
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| My old school nigga, we was fuckin' with T. B
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| When I was just a boy in the hood like Eazy
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| But now I put that boy in the hood like Jeezy
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| I’m pimpin' ya breezy, bought me a G.T. |
| on G. P
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| Still, nigga bang out them CD’s
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| Niggas know I was real before they watch Treal T. V
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| Catch me over the stove
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| Turn a cola to O’s
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| All day I’ll make it snow like the Poconos
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| We can blaze up the pipe or snort it up your nose
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| We got it sewed, the S.O. |
| to the Valley Jo’s
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| Roll the six fever, o’beamer
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| With that four-four heater
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| Yuk stuntin' like coat zebras
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| All them stop and goes
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| Ready to lock and load
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| All my life my niggas ghost walk the load
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| I told 'em, yes I am
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| Ambit of the mothafuckin' man
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| I’m right there in my D-boy steed
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| Hip to hands, turn bricks to grams
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| So sav, do it all when I run around
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| Fuck with wizzle, BRRRAA, how the gunna sound
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| We gon' stunt it out
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| Dipped in butter now
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| So when I run her down, show off from the gutter pal
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| Nigga, now, bitch, what’s what, get me
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| From Yuk and a bitch to bump, yup
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| I’m Buddy Love, ain’t no Mr. Klump
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| Boy, I’ll whip the snuff and move zips to bumps
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| Yadada, I don’t know, it’s not miss enough
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| I’m the gutta puff don in all princess cut
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| Ay, quote this, bitch get bucked
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| So that bitch get biscuits, what
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| Bitch
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| Ice ya chain up, gather ya gang up
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| She call me with no doe, I hang up
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| So sav, do it all when we run around
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| Hoes know strip down when we come around
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| We make chips off this gift that we cursed with
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| Every time we do it, we do it with a purpose
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| Whatchu mad at, man, I’m a class act
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| Count stacks while I hit baby from the back
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| Count stacks while I hit baby from the back
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| You know the life line, niggas, it’s a class act
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| Daddy of the hood
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| Vellquan |