| S-O-you-T-H, M-E-M-P-H-I-S, take a guess
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| Can you figure it out, huh you see that park sign
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| Huh, you know what time it is on, yeah…
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| Got me runnin' duck and survive, up in this rap game
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| Play it fly, and movin' equipped, wid blunts and blaze man
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| Suburban to the curbin', hold up cause I ain’t servin'
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| Jump up and get ah cut ah that stuff, get off to servin'
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| Armani or some coochie, her figure mixed wid coochie
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| I’m ridin' fully loaded, plus cut, whatever suits me
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| Lil Buck and all your kinfolk, you know the click was my folk
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| South Memphis bout to blow up, boo-hoo and they can’t sop us
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| So far from where I was, sometimes I feel like catchin' myself
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| Before I go just let me know am I a fool wid myself
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| Is spv with my wealth, is spv 'til the death
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| A Gangsta B so smoke the ashes passin' pullin' that health
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| So comin' simple and plain, I guess the rules ah the game
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| Is hocus pocus tryna focus, barely it just maintain
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| So take a smell in hell, get the loot and get bail
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| Spv I dwell, and all the times shall tell
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| Dj Paul, Gangsta Blac everybody hate us so
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| It’s all about a come up man
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| Bustas can’t be actin' strange
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| See I dwell in spv, over here ya cannot hang
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| See I dwell in spv, over here ya cannot hang
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| Fuck haters ain’t savin' none ah you hoes in the never P
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| The Prophet the Possee, the bhz click wid spv
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| The bustas we rush 'em quick, come one come on scary bitch
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| We squeezin' them forties wid the mufflers and them reds trick
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| Straight at your, fuckin' dome, coward shoulda stayed at home
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| Never shoulda come South, never shoulda ran his mouth
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| Sherm wid Bourbon comin' through
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| Slammed wid eight killers of my crew
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| We trill, we killin' already the body we spilled
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| But bitch I thought you knew
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| The motherfuckin' scores, cover them holes in your fuckin' back
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| You leakin' like ah faucet any second your body gon' be on flat
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| Triple fuckin' Six, in your face got you shakin'
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| Duck my thugs from Two Lane and Queensmound, give 'em a reason to duck
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| They never shoulda took the trip, knowin' that the Haven’s buck
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| Buckshots that we produce, and we leavin' 'em loose in they insides
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| They bleedin' through his guts
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| The closer ya come the closer ya encounter from outer space
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| The Black Haven Zone, the bhz niggas gon' take your place over
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| Dj Paul, Gangsta Blac everybody hate us so
|
| It’s all about a come up man
|
| Bustas can’t be actin' strange
|
| See I dwell in spv, over here you cannot hang
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| 1995, Mystic Styles the album was the shit
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| Me and dj Paul hit the back and catch the fattest chicks
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| We was movin' team was comin' clean wid something flexin'
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| Paul bought a Bourbon after that '92 a Lexus
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| Playa haters started comin' cause they saw us slammin doors
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| I couldn’t, stop, here, they don’t fuck, wid a nigga no more
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| But yet I still fuck wid you, I also fuck wid business to
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| Tryna stack some cheese, for the keys, to my crib fool
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| Everything was cool when you saw a nigga hype the street
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| Everything was true, when I said you hoes didn’t fuck wid me
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| Now I’m makin' money and my company is risin' quick
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| Major labels callin' everyday, tryna get wid this
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| Northside for life man, a nigga ain’t tryna change
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| I trick it wid the niggas that stay real, true to the game
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| Lames don’t step up, stuck up bitches need to suck, a mean ass dick
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| For the nine six, fuck them ducks
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| Dj Paul, Gangsta Blac everybody hate us so
|
| It’s all about a come up man
|
| Bustas can’t be actin' strange
|
| See I dwell in spv, over here you cannot hang
|
| Dj Paul, Gangsta Blac everybody hate us so
|
| It’s all about a come up man
|
| Bustas can’t be actin' strange
|
| See I dwell in spv, over here you cannot hang
|
| See I dwell in spv, over here you cannot hang |