| I once knew this brother
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| Who I thought was cool with me Chilled out together
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| Even went to school with me Fly nigga, my ace boon coon
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| Used to low ride together
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| Shot dice in the bathroom
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| Ya want trouble?
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| Well trouble ya found
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| Cause we diss ya, then issue
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| The critical beat down
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| He needed money
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| I would always come through
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| Needed a car? |
| He could use mine too
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| But bust this!
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| Out on the street
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| People say he was riffin'
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| Callin’me a sucker
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| Talkin’bout how foul I’m livin'
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| Someone heard him
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| Poppin’that shit last week
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| Frontin’for some pussy
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| >From some big butt freak
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| Sayin’I’m his worker
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| I was on his dick!
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| Talkin’that craazy old weak assed shit
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| and after all of that
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| She still walked away
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| How ya gonna diss your boy
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| To get some play?
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| And when I stepped to him about it He said, Who snitched?
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| Yo, how did he go out?
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| He went out like a bitch!
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| So ladies
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| We ain’t just talkin’bout you
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| Cause some of you niggas
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| Is bitches too!
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| I knew this brother named Mitch
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| Stone player
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| He meet a girl, in five min. |
| he lay her
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| Trucked crazy jewels
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| Hands smothered in ice
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| Been to prison not once, but twice
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| Kept a stupid thick posse
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| Made of thugs and
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| Crooks and hoods
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| and vet hustlers
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| Who were up to no good
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| But they all stood behind him
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| and watched his back
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| That’s the only way
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| To roll on the track
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| But yo,
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| Mitch got rushed by feds last week
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| The snatchbared the runk
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| Of his white Corniche
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| Took a look inside
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| And what did they see?
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| Two keys, and a gallon of PCP!
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| Oh shit! |
| The thought crashed
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| Mitch’s subliminal
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| Three strikes, that’s called
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| Habitual criminal
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| So insted of goin’under
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| He snitched on his whole posse
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| Maxed at the crib
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| And sipped Martini and Rossi
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| Sold out his whole crew
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| That rat named Mitch
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| I knew this guy
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| That was never that fly
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| Couldn’t act cool
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| Even when he tried
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| When we played rough
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| He always cried
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| When he told stories, he always lied
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| A Black brother
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| Who was missin’the cool part
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| He had the color
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| But was missin’the true heart
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| When we would fight
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| He would always go down quick
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| So he took karate
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| and he still got his ass kicked
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| But now he’s married
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| And he kicks his wife’s ass
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| Says it comes from problems
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| That he had in the past
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| Doesn’t like Blacks
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| Claims he’s upper class
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| Joined the police, got himself a badge
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| Now he rolls the streets
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| and he’s cut to jack
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| Doggin’young brothers
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| Cause they usually don’t fight back
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| Got a White partner
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| And he asked for that
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| and every night
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| Another head they crack
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| So now he’s big man
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| But he really ain’t shit!
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| Out one night with my crew
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| and some new kid
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| I didn’T know homeboy, but Evil E did
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| So I thought he was cool
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| We rode in his ride
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| Rag top tray on Daytons
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| Lifted side to side
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| We hit the party deep
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| Niggas was hawkin’me
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| You could feel the vibe
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| Of thick artillery
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| Parliament was on, some O.G. |
| shit
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| I put my back to the wall
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| And felt my pistol grip
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| al of a sudden
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| Niggas started trippin'
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| Flippin', the record started skippin'
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| Wildin', fools started locn up Gats cracked
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| The room started smokin’up
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| Me and E hit the floor
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| And then the back door
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| My boys let off an automatic encore
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| But when we made it out to the ride
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| It was gone, we had to shoot it out
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| Side by side
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| Punk left us there to die in a ditch! |