| Yeah yeah
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| Yeah, uh-huh…
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| Yo, hold the press the gat’ll spit in one second no less
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| Those that choose to rock a vest we aim
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| At that non-fuctional organ of yours, your brain
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| Never clap, low rain so there’s less remain
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| Make your moms feel better tell her you felt no pain
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| Her, baby is gone, the rider be long
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| My name’ll ring bells hear alarms go off
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| I’m here to remain like a smoker’s cough
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| When will niggas learn I can’t get touched
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| Any attempt will cause you to get bucked
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| Dead ass you’ll be history don’t play those games
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| As we carry niggas off into they graves
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| Anything to do with cash I gotta get broke off
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| And anything less I’ll make my toast go off
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| Niggas want me contained, set up, framed
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| But hell what can I say the hood is rough terrain
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| But my mind is a Range as I whip through the game
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| Hail snow sleet or rain it won’t phase
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| So while you on the corner smoked out gettin blazed
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| I put the drop on 'em with that infrared ray
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| These cowards keep shiftin cause they can’t adjust
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| It’s a very big difference between y’all and us
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| First of all we clean them guns, y’all be lettin 'em rust
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| Let 'em sit around for years then expect 'em to bust
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| It’ll +Jam+ in your hand it’ll cost you +Run+
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| Not too far, just enough of slugs to reach your lungs
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| You be laid on the floor not too long to come
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| Or be police while they laughin treatin a broken gun
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| Why they straight disrespected you, callin you dumb
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| They don’t give a fuck about a corpse or where you from
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| Put two and two together, youse an ig’nant nigga
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| If you had three accountants still couldn’t flip figures
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| Fuck is on his mind? |
| This is mighty fine times
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| When I cop about a month a gat is reachin its prime
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| We don’t play those games to stay in the shootin range
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| Holdin shit sideways like it’s helpin yo' aim
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| C’mon nigga~!
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| — repeat 4X to fade |