| If you try to get with me, pull a four and a fifty
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| Fuck your monkey ass up, like Bobby did Whitney
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| Trigger fingers get itchy, when niggas get bitchy
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| And they need they story told on Jerry or Ricki
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| Pull your green in your iffy, I’m clean and I’m spiffy
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| If they lock me up today I’ll be back in a jiffy
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| All my niggas that’s with me, all my bitches are picky
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| To ride around us right on time, bitch you know it’s tricky
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| Take a hit of the sticky, everybody get tipsy
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| When we hittin' that whiskey, all my niggas get pissy
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| Don’t fuck with no sissy, all we bumpin' is missy
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| If you know where I am, motherfucker come get me
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| I’m a man not a Mickey, all my niggas love hickies
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| That don’t go away 'til you’re well in your sixties
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| All I’m wearin' is Dickies, don’t try to evict me
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| When we come to Atlanta we gon' re-open Nikki’s
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| And y’all better get use to it
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| And y’all better get use to it
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| And y’all better get use to it
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| And y’all better get use to it
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| Barracuda with it, call security
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| Fuck the dress code, I’m in a white T with jewelry
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| Hand to my side with my nine, sat lyin' back
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| In the club with your baby mama in my lap
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| Lookin' fly like I got a pocket full of stones
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| Pro fitted on, wearin' chronic cologne
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| Big watch, big rocks, grip Glocks, dick guap
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| What you niggas thought, motherfucker this is Lench Mob
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| Dub make the trigger knock, talk shit
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| I’ll put additional air condition holes in your Bentley top
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| And shorty got 'em gettin' low, I rich rolls
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| Swervin' on them MVP’s, I call 'em Kobe’s cause they 24's
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| Still spittin' out sunflowers, Dub and Don Dadda
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| Bustin' more gun powder than gun towers
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| Down South, y’all can Screw it, it’s the West, too truest
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| Keep the party jumpin' like do it fluid and never lose it
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| And y’all better get use to it
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| And y’all better get use to it
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| And y’all better get use to it
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| And y’all better get use to it
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| Who my gangsta rap teacher? |
| (Ice Cube) Nigga you better know it
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| It’s the Don Dadda Jr. slash motherfuckin' poet
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| Sit back and take notes while I spin like hundred spokes
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| My flow is razor sharp, I’m comin' straight for your throat
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| With that West Coast, gangbang, watch him when his chain hang
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| East Coast, Down South, niggas do the same thang
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| Throw up your dubs like Wu-Tang, who bang
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| Harder than that nigga bailin' through your hood with two chains
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| Swangin' like his nuts, cause he don’t give a fuck
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| Bout no nigga that ain’t bangin' in no khakis or some Chuck’s
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| It’s that Westside, Connect’d with that nigga who flow so wreckless
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| He spent a hundred thousand on his necklace, I’ll bet this
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| Motherfuckin' Coast ain’t got shit after me
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| Ain’t have shit before Cube except a W. C
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| The Maad Circle is back, with mad purple in fact
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| I’m bout to join the Lench Mob, that’s me squirtin' the mac, motherfuckers
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| And y’all better get use to it
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| And y’all better get use to it
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| And y’all better get use to it
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| And y’all better get use to it |