| Artist: Spice 1
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| Album: Immortalized
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| Song: Gone With The Wind
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| Standing here brings back a gang of memories, man
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| Sitting on this old block
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| All the violence and drugs you know
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| But I lived through it
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| Get this shit on, yeah nigga, you and them
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| Motherfuckers
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| Rest in player pieces my niggas
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| Blaaow!
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| Innocent bystanders be laying up in the streets
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| In the concrete jungle where real niggas be packing heat
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| Leaving your insides exposed to the witnesses walking by
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| Here today and gone tomorrow my nigga, we born to die
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| Keep your eyes open partner, ain’t no rules in this shit
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| My nigga died with three kids and a wife, ain’t that a bitch
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| I can’t go clubbing because I’m thugging with some G’s for real
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| I see some niggas at the party, then I’m subject to kill
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| Keep my head over the water, uzi in the stash
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| Niggas try to wet me up that’s why I dumped on they ass
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| I had a homey named 'Money' now he’s R.I.P
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| Niggas set him and killed him for some key’s and g’s
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| I don’t know why they fuck did it, niggas plotting and scheme
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| That’s why you can never be blind to a broke man’s dream
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| Because see I’m losing it. |
| I can’t take it. |
| I miss my peers
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| Talk to my nigga, Makaveli. |
| He’s been dead for two years
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| Episodes of divine intervention, invade my mind
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| Got me thinking, 'Damn I could’ve been dead, a couple times'
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| Killer pits and extra clips, around my bed when I sleep
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| Stash my Glock under my pillow, twenty gauge by my feet
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| Sitting on my old block reminiscing again
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| For my homies dead and gone in the wind
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| Gone with the wind, gone with the wind
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| Gone with the wind, gone with the wind
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| Sitting on my old block reminiscing again
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| Put the fire to the blunt, take a sip of the Hen
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| Sitting on my old block reminiscing again
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| On my homies dead, gone with the wind
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| Gone with the wind
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| Too many niggas smile in my face and back stab
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| I’m left throwing niggas in the trunk and kidnap
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| Thugging and loving bitches obsessed with this mob shit
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| Niggas thinking they moving
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| And bailing out the cut with the quickness
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| Suckers be blind to this real shit, we bring the pain
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| Bossalini, Fetty Chico, Shiznilti still in the game
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| Immortalized forever, having my homies up in the grave
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| Thinking back on when I used to drank yac in my younger days
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| Bust the twelve gauge shotty, too young to buy liquor
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| Little bad ass niggas grew up to be mob figures
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| Living life on a razor; |
| cars, money and bitches
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| Niggas plotting to kill us, coming in coupes in a milli’s
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| We go to war 'til they feel us, bury they ass on the realest
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| (not sure what is said) eliminate you for scrilla
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| Niggas dying on the frontline
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| Spending most of they life ducking the one time, no sunshine
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| In the world of sin, from the gutter to the pen
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| Got me swimming in the game with a brim on my shark’s fin
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| Sitting on my old block reminiscing again
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| For my homies dead and gone in the wind
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| Gone with the wind
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| I ain’t no bitch but if you bone me I’m coming
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| Running double trying to murder something
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| Eyes red and heart pumping
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| Serving niggas out the back of the Caddy
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| Hitting corners
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| Ain’t no love for you snitch ass niggas in California
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| Ducking suckers and shady bitches, scheming to gaffle riches
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| Niggas living fictitious, running game and selling fishes
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| Paranoia of surveillance vans watching me close
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| Nigga (?) dreams died back in '94
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| Suckers laid down my homey, I just had to get off
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| Can’t be acting like no bitch nigga, because war is raw
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| They say nice guys finish last and the good die young
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| Too many real niggas put to death by the hand of the gun
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| Sitting on my old block reminiscing again
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| On my homies dead and gone in the wind
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| Gone with the wind, Gone with the wind
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| Gone with the wind, gone with the wind
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| Gone with the wind |