| I’m back with the spirit of Nipsey
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| Take a brick and I scissored it crispy (hot)
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| Silencer on the nickel got it whistlin' Dixie
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| My soul got soul, my spirit is drippin' in whiskey
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| Your soul on sale, I could buy it (uh)
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| I got drugs for sale, you could try it
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| All that sleep and you still look tired (ha)
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| I don’t care 'bout your rap sheet, you look wired
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| Fuck all the perjury, y’all should go ring the alarm for the burglary
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| I’m on a long murder spree
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| Y’all should be urgently callin' emergency
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| This open-heart surgery, your blood spillin' over, dark burgundy
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| All the flippin' over the raw perfectly
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| Done created enough crack babies to open a small nursery
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| Drop the top on the Range Rover, then park vertically (skrrt!)
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| I break most of the law first degree
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| I came throwin' a dart to break open the art surgically
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| My chain glow in the dark, certainly, baby, bling (bling!)
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| I’m fly, but I’m from the gutter
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| I date project bitches that’ll jump your mother
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| Come for supper, all we servin' is guns and butter
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| I’m with the smoke up above the muffler, fucker
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| Chea
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| Yup, yup, you know
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| Yup, yup, you know
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| Ay, you know the agenda
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| Ay, yeah, you know the agenda
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| Yup, yup, you know
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| Yup, yup, you know
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| Ay, you know the agenda
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| No love for fuckboy pretender
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| You know the agenda
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| Fake out, real niggas in the center
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| What up?
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| Uh; |
| A million dollars later, they ask «am I down with Shady?»
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| Nigga, I’m up with Em, I’m tired of this conversation
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| Finally graduated, my dad said go to the army
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| I went and got famous and joined the Rihanna Navy
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| I’m the OG, but don’t you ever try to play me
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| I’m mature but I’ll beat your ass like I’m DaBaby
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| I’ll come to where you and your homies dwell
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| For spewin' them phony tales
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| Kill you and bury you with your Sony sales
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| And you and your lil' girly purse
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| And your Laverne and Shirley shirts are receivin' only Ls
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| You’ll prob’ly burn from the smoke if you don’t inhale
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| Hurt people hurtin' to hurt, word to the homie Kells
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| Two of your cronies fell, and you in a coma holdin' on for dear life
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| Like Coolio ponytail
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| And all they feel is sorrow
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| Before the semi was auto I was semi-immortal
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| Dvinci tires was on the car like Leonardo
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| Two-tone Benz sittin' pretty like Winnie Harlow
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| Ridin' off laughin' loud as Ricky Ricardo
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| Haaaa… y’all niggas know the agenda
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| If it’s war, nigga, y’all niggas on the agenda
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| I’m sendin' all of them henchmen out
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| You know all the ins and out
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| Ain’t nothin' to talk about, or trip about
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| We ain’t squashin' nothin' yet, cut all the wimpin' out
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| We got doctors on set, this is all the insanity niggas dreamt about
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| I got the line on your family, nigga
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| I got choppers on deck, like one of y’all grannies just took her dentures out
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| I’m a slave to my hooligan ways
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| You shoot the fade, I lose the fade, I come back shootin' the Ks
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| You shoot the K back, then I came back through and threw the grenade
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| You the shit? |
| Well, I’m the shit that came back through the bidet
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| Sent the booth, unloadin' speed-loadin' truth
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| Each flow is proof, the reason these hoes be on the net
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| Deepthroatin' fruit
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| Crackers told me to go back to Africa
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| 'Cause I spit those facts, this the Colfax massacre
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| 150+ black deaths, a city overrun by crack, meth
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| One hit could be your last breath
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| Yup, yup, you know
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| Yup, yup, you know
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| Ay, you know the agenda
|
| Ay, yeah, you know the agenda
|
| Yup, yup, you know
|
| Yup, yup, you know
|
| Ay, you know the agenda
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| No love for fuckboy pretender
|
| You know the agenda
|
| Fake out, real niggas in the center
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| What up doe? |