| Yo… yo
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| Y’all respect my tour bus
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| We got whores with no drawers ready to do all four of us!
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| Wildin, bustin big bags of Ruffles
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| Show money, rubber band’d up in the duffle
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| With dirtball niggas that steal cake from stores
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| Boostin niggas that pop tags in the mall
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| True spot hoggers, used a few stockings
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| Niggas hand over the cash when heat’s to they noggin
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| I sing a lil' lullaby, who gon' testify
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| The way a gruesome murder been televised?
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| Stupid! |
| My name still ring in the streets though
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| Eighty-six, used to slip crack through the peephole
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| Biscuit like vaseline if I was a crook
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| In rap I’m past the cream, brand more lean
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| If you niggas complain of sore throats
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| Shove the gun in they mouth, throat got scratched
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| They suckin on Halls yo
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| Yeah, yo
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| Yo this verse is like leavin the gas on
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| Hog-tie a nigga for his bread, have the Hefty bag on
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| By any means, a cheddar king
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| Got a '98 kid’s voice on smooth like Lenny Green
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| Word to my mother I air y’all niggas out
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| Bigger chromers for the one who got the bigger mouth
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| («Shout, shout, I’m talking to you, c’mon!»)
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| Go 'head and try me, you know you a bird
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| You could be on +Gangland+ wit’cha face all blurred
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| Skull deaded up slumped over the curb
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| Just watch next time how you write your words
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| Leave you hangin like your last name
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| Or a old man’s nuts that sag with no shame
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| Payback’s a bitch; |
| yeah I smash y’all berries
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| 'fore they find you dead in your +Little House on the Prairie+
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| Yo, I can do this on crutches black with no legs
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| Both arms in a sling, push me on stage
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| Style still linger in the air like Glade
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| Girls my early 20's I used to run trains
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| Chill I got next, go behind Dirt
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| Sometimes I had to chill instead get neck
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| Rich chandelier gown all over my flesh
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| 'Bout to throw ladies to Haiti, peace to Wyclef
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| Blowed y’all cream never throw dollar bills up
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| You know we window baggin that krillz up
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| Fingertips hurt puttin that work in
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| Move that white in bulk nigga like Jergens
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| New rappers need to skip town
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| This the East coast music, Grandpa Ghost is around
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| Icon tellin y’all now
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| Be out before dawn 'fore shit get wild~! |