| Fred Wreck in this motherfucker
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| Yeah Tha Eastsidaz
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| Back once again to drop that Crip Hop shit
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| We gets payed to steal, gang bang for real
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| Slang thangs at will, known to blaze the steel
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| Niggas ain’t for real, cats who claim to peel
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| Say you game to kill, but I don’t think you will
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| Little Goldie Loc, these niggas hoes to me
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| Lemme tell these motherfuckers how it’s 'sposed to be
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| See crime merrily and better see ya rep to death
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| Squeeze ya enemies until they can’t catch they breath
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| Don’t sleep, tote heat, seven days a week
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| Whether to work or to church, snow, rain, or sleet
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| And don’t bang with weak — motherfuckers who ain’t wit it
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| Ain’t no snitchin, take the deal and get convicted, stay commited
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| This mission is a vision to control the globe
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| Leavin scents where we step back and hold our own
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| Hold that zone, it won’t be long, we keep it pushin
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| Livin on the edge and ain’t lookin for no cushion
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| It’s all in the hardcore game of death
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| Cuz you can’t change ya steps, once you have claimed the set
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| Ain’t no tattoo removal, fool, bang ya block
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| Or you could shake the spot, cuz now your face is hot
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| All that goin outta town, tryin to set up shop
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| And you ain’t win up nothin buster, better check yo' props
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| Keep the sag hangin, rag swangin, gangsta walk
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| Leave opponents hood smokin, with the tape the chalk
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| Young homies to the G’s stay swollen with cheese
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| Insane to the brain, rollin twenty’s on D’s
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| Throwin C’s up, ease up, or get rubbed out
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| Cuz my whole squad hot and we stay thugged out
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| Tray Deee, O.G., these niggas holdin me
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| Lemme show these motherfuckers how it’s sposed to be
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| Mama, they got me in the shell again
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| But this time I think I’m headed for the state pen
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| I got too many problems, and I sure don’t need 'em
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| As I fall to my knees and I begs for my freedom
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| Listen for my name, so I can get chain
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| I’m headed for court but this time I feel strange
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| With my eyes on the gate, with handcuffs on my wrist
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| I’m tryna find a way out, to hoppin the fence
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| 5 o’clock, they might shock, to leave these shackles on my feet
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| I feel the heat it’s gettin deep, both eyes open when I’m asleep
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| The big situation got me stuck in a drought
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| I’ve been squabblin everyday so my time didn’t count
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| The major deal is that my brother told me, «Take no shit»
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| Cuz I might end up gettin out and comin home real quick
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| The plan for the lick was to do it overseas
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| Come back to the L.B., spendin 24 G’s
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| Now you know me — straight up to no good
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| Little nappy head nigga always bellin through the hood
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| I kept my strap on my lap, and steadied the clip on the seat
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| All eyes on me, when your fuckin with a G
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| I was dedicated to seein the gangsta cuz
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| I keep my head on straight, with my brain on buzz
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| Ay B-A-D (whattup) These niggas hoes to me
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| Lemme show you motherfuckers how it’s 'sposed to be
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| Keep a, bag of money with the grocery
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| And when I’m on the move I groove with the fo’fifth heat
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| Check it out Eastsida, these niggas hoes to me
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| Now lemme show you motherfuckers how it’s 'sposed to be
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| I’m just a Eastside, low-life nigga to death
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| We gone ride in any car, show with niggas the best
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| Peep the nigga that test, you shoulda put on ya vest
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| You shoulda, covered ya wig, 'fore I hitcha with this
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| It ain’t no motherfuckin give back, when knees is crackin
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| If it ain’t a gun war, we finna use 'em for jackin
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| And it’s money 'round here, it’s just hard to see it
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| And when you spot it, don’t be so fuckin sure that you got it
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| You make it happen or not — you still grindin on the spot
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| You gotta give it what you got, still livin how it pop
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| It’s a do-it-all-day type of thang, make it crack-a-lak
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| Fuck a jail cell, I’m on the beach in a Cadillac
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| Fleetwood, seven deuce nigga with the rag back
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| Bangin ol' deez like a cold O. G
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| Used to smoke wet 'til my day looked black
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| Used to pack techs 'til my pay looked fat
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| I have bitches transport them llello packs
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| Still the sam ol' nigga, I just slang dope raps
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| Hate, I feel like «so what», smash and get my dough up
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| You know what, point some heat at’cha when ya show up
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| So niggas don’t be runnin up up on the B-A-D
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| Cuz he be packin heat, and this is D-P-G-C
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| Uh-huh, it’s off the hizzy
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| For real, beat by Fred Wrizzy
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| Makin them niggas get dizzy
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| For real
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| Gangsta shit, lemme get some girl
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| Yea this shit to gangsta for the motherfuckin streets
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| Eastsida, be-atch! |