| — Yall muthafuccaz don’t wanna die
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| stop all that bull shit frontin’and all that talk
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| a real nigga will pick the time, to go what
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| Verse one
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| Kadafi like the lyrical father hezzy
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| give me feet if your crucified, like you was Jesus
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| on the floor spreadin', like diseases
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| sippin’the Henny, who say cool lockin’the Semi
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| Automatic, niggas jumpin’like acrobatics, when static erupts
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| you stuck, wit no fuckin’bucket to piss in know all you cowards goin’miss in, heres a bitch
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| name glock you blockin’me, to be kissin'(I said it)
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| it’s like a midnight moon, from night to afternoon (noon)
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| get cooked up, like coke in a spoon (spoon)
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| protect your body from a? |
| shot, from my fuckin’shooty
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| layin’it down, the road dog Hussein, Kadafi
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| cuttin’ya ear to ear, fittin’these niggas head gear
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| like I’m county bound, wilin’from to tear to tear
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| shootin’and popluting, ya atmosphere
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| wit crates and waste, waitin’through the fuckin’state
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| tryin’come up in this world, cuz it’s money to make
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| laid to rest forever, you wanna do rap under ground?
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| so maybe six feet, will make the raps better
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| Chorus
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| Whats ya life worth? |
| more then a beef
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| when you got heat, and til scared of the streets
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| how you gonna make it wit ya body, lost and cause
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| wit cha soul, departin’slow, still shootin’for the stars
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| Some times, I feel that I’m a dead man walkin'
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| wake up and cold sweats, and see myself in a coffin
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| my life is hunted, I’m confused and fond
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| if my blood stop pourin', I regulate like I was born (2x)
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| Verse two
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| What the fuck you think this is? |
| hands up everybody spread’em
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| the first muthafucker move, dirty bird gotta wet’em
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| ain’t nobody gettin’out alive, if I don’t get that melt that I came
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| for
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| in plus a muthafuckin’ounce and bounce
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| cuz, I’m on that type of shit, nobody be knowin'
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| alias Hussein, anybody look to strange I’m blowin'
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| I got these thugs, and hotties knowin'
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| haulin’ass, wit Daz, and money bags,
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| and the ass of the shooty showin', play the?
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| I bring the heat to ya street, like Al Pachino and
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| Dinero, eliminate thirty muthafuccaz to zero
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| watch me, streets is black hockey
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| their’s rules in the game, that’s never let a cop top me Verse three
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| Back to back, doin’niggas like this
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| when I get pissed, the hollow point slugs rip
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| Thug Life, the type to swollow a bible
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| I’m a swollow clips, follow this nozle of the mack
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| so I don’t miss, much hesitation, not nuff retaliation
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| blame ya legislation, for puttin’me on probation
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| allagations facin’the nation, so poor I’m in the basement
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| ready for cold war, but I remain pateint
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| my sustained, station, name takin'
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| for my rocks steady, feel ya fuckin’brain shakin'
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| makin’a switch, from tricks to rich
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| clips to bricks, wit slow dipps
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| turn in to dough hits, look at slowly, folded
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| toted an broke click, you need a light?
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| I’m a type, that you can smoke dick
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| rock a crew, down to?
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| like Makaveli, crack frames like Hussein
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| jackin’planes, back to?
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| through the crack of the ice, I surface like a seal
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| new rap without, practice, do the rap without nervousness and chill
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| shot and spin I, wit you got is men I she top they droppin’did I, you got popped in the lid I rock fight pop hoes in ya retire, bullets scatter
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| through ya crewshea, devils desire |