| «Yo whats up man? |
| Yeah I gotta trunk fulla this shit
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| Word, broads still with me man, comin over to grapevine right now
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| Yo I can’t talk right now man, I gotta get off this phone»
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| Damn, how’d I get into this scam
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| Roll in a car with the trunk worth 5000 grand
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| I came up from the curb, word
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| First thing it rocks, now my ride’s packin crazy birds
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| I gotta freak in the front seat
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| She got crazy game, might even have more than me
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| And thats why I don’t trust, I ain’t no busta
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| One wrong move and I’ll dust her
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| But she knows that, keeps a gat
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| Works much plastic, always stays on phat
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| She said she loves me
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| Looks deep in my eyes, sometimes cries, all lies
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| She only loves my cash flow, long dough
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| The falso love of a pimp and a ho
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| But me and her gotta job to do
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| Get this luggage back to the crew
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| She got scanner, I hadta listen to the pigs talk
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| And if they speakin about us then its jumpin off
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| But I ain’t sweatin them at all
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| 2 cops’ll roll up and 2 cops’ll fall
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| The lines on the highway, I’m makin my mind drift away
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| To my last jail stay
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| 5 years for a 459
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| I’m never goin back, no matter what the crime
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| Surrenderin ain’t me
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| Fuck that, I’m holdin court in the street G
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| For a nigga like me there ain’t no ounce
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| My life filled with drug busts and shoot outs
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| Pure ghetto anger, pure ghetto anger
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| Pure ghetto anger, I’m addicted to danger
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| Some nights I crash clubs
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| Rollin with the posse made of well-known thugs
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| Cool out with the freaks
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| Truckin much jewels, beggin for beef
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| Thens some niggas roll up
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| Lookin for a way to pump the reps up
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| But I ain’t the one
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| I’m handin out beat downs, no need for guns
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| Sometimes I gotta ask myself
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| Is all this buck whylin good for a niggas health?
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| I don’t know why
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| Am I suicidal, do I wanna die?
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| The answerin, simple
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| A headache throbs in my temple
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| It says it ain’t fair, it says it ain’t right
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| It says its goin down tonight
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| We finally made it to the drop spot
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| King and Weston Ave, snoody fox
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| The posse was there, but it ain’t right
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| Fuckin police lights
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| Its all goin down that road blocks
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| I never seen that many cops
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| It was a setup, my whole damn crew’s gettin wet up
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| Big time, some motherfucker dropped a dime
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| But even in the flurry of gun shots
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| My adrenaline was boilin hot
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| I crash down on the floor of the ride
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| Punch the gas, drove that benz through they punk ass
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| Hit Vernor doin 90
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| Looked in the rear-view, no one behind me
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| I got on the phone
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| Called up the homies to see what went wrong
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| But no time to sweat that
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| I still gotta trunk fulla shit, I was on phat
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| I just need a cool place to hide
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| Dumped the benzo, slammed the G ride
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| Me and a freak hit a motel crash spot
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| The streets was hot
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| Rubbed me down, said she adored me
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| Said the gunfire made her horny
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| The she pushed me back on the bed
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| Licked me head to toe, toe to head
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| Then I closed my eyes real slowly
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| Is this love? |
| No not me
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| Then I felt a pain in my chest
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| The smell of gun powder and burnt flesh
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| I looked in her face, opened my mouth
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| And then her badge came out |