| Yo, behind those mahogany walls
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| Indoor pools with steel doors, flipping eggs over in my silk drawers
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| While I"m charging my cell, sparking the L
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| Baby mother reading my mail, just that they switched seats
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| To another jail, and his banger is old fire
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| He’s locked up with them dudes from the fucking Wire
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| That’s when I passed her the bone, started to cough
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| And flossed all through the house, robe on, ruger out
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| Homebuyers see the sign, yeah ya’ll, I’m moving out
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| In front of the crib, niggas flipped, I had to shoot it out
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| Thirty G, living room sets, porcelain plates
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| With big giant wall units, even the front grass
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| Saw your boy doing it, Tone Stark he’ll never fall
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| I even put work in, under the floor
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| In the box with the ox, and my skeleton jaw
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| Tell 'em soldiers I’m in the bush if the President call
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| Get 'em, the’ll be nothing but smooth sailing
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| When the heat shot, now your crew’s bailing
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| I refuse to bow down, refuse to lay down
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| Go five and turn, to let the biz, all I found
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| Where the fuck is the kids crown?
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| Lady luck breathing all over the dikes
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| With 745 airlines, the color of Cajun rice
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| This the passion of Christ, done seen it and felt it all
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| Til rats shit in my boots, like how the fuck the rats get in my boots
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| A brown metal that sizzles, wrap up more dead meat then riddles
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| Injuries that have you missing more games than Kerry Kittles
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| There’s a war going on outside, you hear the fiddles?
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| And you so called 'units', go 'head and jump
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| And get your body severed apart with pumps
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| Aiyo, watch who you talk around, cuz ya’ll seen niggas snitching
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| And they quick to turn on you like keys in the ignition
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| Niggas start submitting, when them slugs is spitting
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| And believe me, that shit’ll hurt like when your drugs is missing
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| Yo, these bullets ain’t thug resistant, and they see a nigga dying
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| Choking off his own blood is sickening
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| Picture that, now picture this, picture me running in your lab
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| Like Allen Iverson waving the fifth
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| But this ain’t no domestic dispute, go 'head and get cute
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| Force my hand, and see if I’m connected with loot
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| Somebody gon' find your body on the stitching of the roof
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| The art of gunplay, I stay perfected when I shoot
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| And this ain’t a lottery, but ya’ll dudes can 'take seven'
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| The slugs’ll have your ass 'burning up' like Faith Evans
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| Facial expressions change when you’re facing that weapon
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| Nigga, your ass gon' die, try to escape within sessions |