| God damn it let’s do it E, what ha-ha
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| The motherfucking young Don, H-A-W-K
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| Day one niggas, ain’t that right Sensei
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| Corleone (Corleone) ha-ha, Screwed Up Click
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| C.M.G. |
| ha, if it’s up to me it is
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| Down in H-Town, the realest gon stand out
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| From the city of no pity, the gritty you get shot
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| I’m the big boss the young Don, however you want it
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| And them six figgas with bitches, I done had that moment
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| I get my crush on my rush on, I love this game
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| Make your mouth taste like shit, when you mention my name
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| Cause I’m adding and subtracting, looking over distractions
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| Y’all struggling everyday mayn, we chilling and relaxing
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| They asking for the best, so I’m letting 'em see the best
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| In my Bentley top down, with a vest on my chest
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| I’m smoking weed by the barrels, Iceberg apperals
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| Niggas know my songs, like they Christmas carols
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| If it wasn’t for the ice, the streets’ll get burned
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| Why the hell I ain’t balling, cause it ain’t your turn
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| You can’t see me can’t be me, don’t make me have to show ya
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| Covered in ice, call me Rocky Balboa nigga
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| Down in H-Town, the realest gon stand out
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| If it wasn’t for the ice, the streets’d be hot
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| Count six factors, crushing all you actors
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| On the Southside, we ain’t scared of no jackers
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| Down in H-Town, chit-chatters get the gatling
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| Baby you duck face, when this ccalicostart rattling
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| Nigga you know me, gun-ho brick feeter
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| Intercept your funds and ones, H-Town block bleeder
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| Enter the do' on swoll, in a all black Range Rover
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| Mobbing like a steam roller, with a cash bag on my shoulder
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| Don’t get caught in the clutch, without a pop in your drawas
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| Be slipping and dipping, and find a chopper to your jaws
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| H-Town's my home, and bar no jacker and his mama
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| Load it up for the drama, 4−4's pause you like a camma
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| Hell-a heat’s a must, or get your damn wig touched
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| Mess around and get crunched, or find your baby mama fucked
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| We keep the streets congested, Mickey Mouse block prince
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| Flooded in cloud dust, acting like the U.S. Mint
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| Heaven sent niggas, grave diggas for figgas
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| And send shivers to you jiggas, unloading triggas cause uh we
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| I keep my game face on, when I’m punching the clock
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| Trying to climb to the top man, it just don’t stop
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| Wanna dip in the pot, keep a whipping for spot
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| Got a gator for a Houpe', so I don’t flip it a lot
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| Keep about a half a brick, distribute it out
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| If niggas don’t pay back, then niggas get shot
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| On my block, we play chess with techs
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| And if the price is right, we’ll twist ya neck
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| Cats get they wig cracked, for disrespect
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| Plus a slug in your thigh, with a hole in your sweats
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| I’m that nigga on your trail, when you rolling a Lac
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| Bout two cars behind, on the 1100 stretch
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| Running you down, catch up I’m gunning you down
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| By this time next week, you’ll be under the ground
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| That’s what you chumps get, for running in mine
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| Fuck around and get one in your spine, I ain’t lying
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| Crown the king, the champ has entered the ring
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| Get under my wing, better duck when I swing
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| First string, clicks please like a trained Marine
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| Wolverine, scare niggas like Halloween
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| I’m underrated, easily agitated
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| Aggravated, my mouthpiece contaminated
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| Educated, vocabulary complicated
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| And the lyrics that I spit, are sprinkled and saturated
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| Most niggas hate it, cause they ain’t the chosen
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| In H-Town, niggas neck and wrist are frozen
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| Ask your stolen, cause we the realest no doubt
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| And the ice on my piece, it need to thaws out
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| I brought the raw out, cause I ain’t scared of no jackers
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| And the heat that I pack, hit harder than linebackers
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| Call the dispatcher, cause niggas gon bleed
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| If Ke' is Balboa, then I’m Apollo Creed nigga what |