| «I had a bad dream»
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| «Don't be afraid, bad dreams are only dreams»
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| «What a time you chose to be born in»
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| Babies cryin', brothers dyin', and brothers gettin' knocked
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| Shit is deep on the block and you got me locked down
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| In this cold, cold world
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| It was the night before New Year’s
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| And all through the fuckin' projects
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| Not a handgun was silent, not even a TEC
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| Outsiders were stuck, by enemies who put fear
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| And blasted on the spot before the pigs were there
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| You know hoods, robbers, snipers new in sight
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| Fuck blue and white
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| They escape before them flash the fuckin' lights
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| Gunshots shatter first-floor window panes
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| Shells hit the ground and blood stained the dice game
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| Whether pro-calisthenic, any style you set it
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| Beat niggas toothless, physically cut up like gooses
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| But with iron on the sides, thugs took no excuses
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| Therefore, your fifty-two handblocks was useless
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| Linx was snatched off necks, left scars on throats
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| Jackets took, after bullet rips through coats
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| Against those who felt the cold from the steel
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| Made ‘em fold and squeal, once the metal hit the temple of his grill
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| Construction worker, who was caught for his bomber
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| No time to swing the hammer that was hangin' from his farmers
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| And it’s bugged how some niggas catch slugs
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| And pockets dug from everythin' except check stubs
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| And it does, sound ill like wars in Brownsville
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| Or fatal robberies in Red Hook where feds look
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| For fugitives to shoot cops, niggas layin' on roof tops
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| For his C.R.E.A.M he stashed in a shoebox
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| But he was hot, and the strip was filled with young killers
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| You don’t suspect, so cops creep like caterpillars
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| And born thieves stay hooded with extra bullets
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| Those who try to flee, they hit the vertebrae
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| Increase the murder rate
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| Similar to hitmen who pull out TECs and then
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| Drop those who crack like tacos from Mexican
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| Rapid, like recipients cashin' checks again
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| Back to the motherfuckin' spot on Lexington
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| Babies cryin', brothers dyin', and brothers gettin' knocked
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| Shit is deep on the block and you got me locked down
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| In this cold, cold world
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| We be runnin' from the cops, bustin' off shots
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| Shit is deep on the block and you got me locked down
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| In this cold, cold world
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| Yo, no time to freeze, undercovers ease up in Grand Prixs
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| And seize packages and pocket the currency
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| Cliques control strips, full clips are sprayed
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| Yellow tape barricades sidewalks where bodies lay
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| Madness strikes at twelve o’clock midnight
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| Stick-up kids on the ground broke the staircase light
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| And I stays harassed, scramblin' for petty cash
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| Jakes on my ass, young bucks is learnin' fast
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| Three-Fifteen-Sevens and Forty-Fours
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| Bought inside corner stores, provide sparks for wars
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| Hospital floors surrounded by the law
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| Homicide questionin' while the Jakes guard the door
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| My hood stay tense, loyalty puts strength in my team
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| ‘Cause niggas' main concern is C.R.E.A.M
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| Some niggas in the jet-black Galant
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| Shot up the Chinese restaurant for this kid named Lamont
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| I thought he was dead, but instead, he missed the kid
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| And hit a twelve-year-old girl in the head, and then fled
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| Tactical narcotic task force, back off fast
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| ‘Cause the crime boss is passin' off cash
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| Extortions for portions of streets, causes beef
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| Havin' followers of Indians trying to play Chief
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| You witness the saga, casualties and drama
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| Life is a script; |
| I’m not an actor
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| But the author of a modern-day opera
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| Where the main character is presidential papers, the dominant factor
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| You know, you had me
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| With your sensuous charm
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| But you looked so alarmed
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| As I walked on by
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| Babies cryin', brothers dyin', and brothers gettin' knocked
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| Shit is deep on the block and you got me locked down
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| In this cold, cold world
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| We be runnin' from the cops, bustin' off shots
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| Shit is deep on the block and you got me locked down
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| In this cold, cold world |