| D. J Clue, Desert Storm
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| You know how we do things
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| (uh)Right now (uh), whachu bout to hear (uh, yea)
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| Whachu bout to witness
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| F A B O L O U S
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| (O L O U S!)
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| Come on, my man Fabolous (uh, yea, uh)
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| The album, Ghetto Fabolous (come on, uh, yo)
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| Come on man!
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| My gun go click and spark
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| Don’t leave witnesses to point me out on 106 and Park
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| Son those slick remarks, gon' get you
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| Bla-bla da da, bla-bla da da da da (blaow!)
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| Y’all walk through my p’s in karats
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| Wind up hook on machines, livin' like peas and carrots
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| Ya team wanna beef, thats when I screw the muzzle on the tip
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| And strap the beam underneath
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| When I ride through, ya dont see no lid
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| I put snipers on the roof like Nino did
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| All it takes is some c-note slid
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| To have you on the news askin if anyone seen yo' kid
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| I dont scream it in a rough tone
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| I got spots in the whip to stuff crome, that would of help Puff Combs
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| Every hustler on this planet ask
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| Givin' away twenties so big, they in sandwhich bags, nigga
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| Uh, yea
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| F A B, O L O U S
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| Yea, fo real, uh, yo, uh
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| These niggas gots to be punched
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| Act stupid, get shells in ya stomache, like you ate pasta for lunch
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| If I let this diablo door raise
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| I’mma have the front of ya crib lookin like Diallos doorway
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| See I know all yays, we buy ours pure-yay
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| We waitin on boats, these guys go Broadway
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| Ya gon make me tie a bomb under ya Benz
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| See how much you talk wit firearms under ya chin
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| No you can’t take the coupe wit dishes
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| Cause when I hit the highway, it always makes the troop suspicious
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| Please, I get my dollar from the hersey
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| I’m on that fly gangsta shit, I pop the collar on my jersey
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| You know I got the heat the way the Vanson is bendin
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| Same laid back flow, no dancin' or grinin'
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| Who else can it be spellin it at them
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| You have them tappin they friend like «I'm tellin you that’s him», stupid |