| Holla at me nigga you know it be Weezy «The Don»
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| I murder easy but hard to kill like Steven Segal
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| Its paper, pussy, and pistols — pass love to the pimp
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| I’m clutching a M busting that tip for fucking with him
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| I’m stuck with the hustle, smuggling whatever for the cheddar
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| Tucking the metal don’t play and I’ll get fucked if I let em
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| I gotta ride til I resign its Squad or die
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| And any coward try its homicide
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| We got Glocks and stuff, got federal agents watching us
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| Got niggas hitting Glocks see us I love (?)
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| See I’m above any nigga that you name
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| Hop up out the blue thang
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| With two flames like «What you saying?»
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| I do’s my thug thang daily
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| 380 tucked under the seat of the S-Class
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| Shots rip your chest fast
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| I’m a mother fucking mess man
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| Street niggas fo sho
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| A fire Hot Boy — ok? |
| Ya know
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| We only like gangsta shit
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| Cause I drive a gangsta car
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| And street niggas run this shit
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| We only like gangsta broads
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| If you wanna see gangsta shit
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| Then push me a lil too far
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| Cause street niggas might not quite
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| You gone have to call the law
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| Niggas keep they stash in they ass
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| Round where I’m from
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| Uptown and that Nolia we sold smoked chumps
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| Quick to steal a nigga any time of the day
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| If his ass outta line we ain’t standing all day
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| Pimp, play off top better believe that dog
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| And plus we stay strapped ducking short of the law
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| I run with solid niggas that’ll ride for me
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| Shit head Craig, Running Red and my nigga Big Ki
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| Shit I rap about — I’m one nigga that live it
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| Coke, dope, guns, nigga I live it
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| I’m only 19 and I’m down for killing
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| Just because a nigga rap dog don’t get it twisted
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| I send shots quick through your Jerseys and Filas
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| My finger get to flicking please believe I ain’t missing
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| Lil Turk +Young & Thuggin'+ know you niggas know about me
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| Cash Money Hot Boy play dog and watch me cock it
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| I’m a street nigga
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| If I rap about it nigga I done lived it out
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| It ain’t shit I’m fantasying this shit I been 'bout
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| I’m a ghetto mother fucker, keep a K with a drum
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| Quick to do a nigga something, I don’t give a fuck
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| I run the streets, all 12 months of the year
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| And where I’m from you can’t come
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| If you ain’t from round here
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| I’m thugged out to the fullest — call me B. G
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| Someone you don’t want to play with cause I’m H-O-T
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| Fire, burning, scorching, flaming
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| You gone melt nigga wishing that it was raining
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| Play the game as you want — wined up in a trunk
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| You better think before you do because you don’t
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| I be bustin' heads, running from feds, duckin' laws
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| Ride all day don’t rest til I kill 'em all
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| I be thuggin' hard and you know that I play it raw
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| Send ya to the morgue
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| Cause I’m a mother fucking street nigga
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| I had a little boo in the other hood
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| I used to go by her house in the wee-wee hours
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| Creeping, laying the wood
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| They had niggas on the block but they knew I was cool
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| But still on G.P. |
| I used to keep me a two
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| Cause she know not what a nigga think
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| Plus you know now that if a nigga tryin' pull gank
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| That’s life though
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| Whodie just like I thought — bitch was straight hatin' dog
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| Me I was 'bout having war, I was impatient ya’ll
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| I stopped going by my peeps house chillin'
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| I stayed in my hood plotting how I’m gone kill him
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| Now my girl say the nigga been watching the house
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| So I’mma go and show the whodie what this drama about
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| What I’mma do to him its gonna make his momma freak out
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| I’mma either get him in or outside of his house
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| People gone say «Lord, lil one died hard
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| Took it to the head five times in the backyard» |