| Yo, Ice
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| The organization say they can’t stay in business with us any longer
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| What you gonna do?
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| We always knew we were gonna come to this point sooner or later
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| We have absolutely no option but to move forward
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| We’ll have to set up our own distribution, manufacturing
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| Run a totally indipendent organization and operation
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| We still got our connections in Texas, Miami, New York, Chicago
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| Detroit, and soldiers on the street willing to die
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| I can’t put any cut on the product
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| I just can’t live like that
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| But from now on if any cops get in our way
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| Turn up the mic dog, so I can get off
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| Find me Charlton Heston and I might cut his head off
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| I’m not to be fucked with
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| Step in the range of my Gauge and get bucked quick
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| Niggas, hoes, I don’t know who you are, my friends or foes
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| Smile in my face and plot to kill me behind doors
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| I got a new attitude, no trust
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| Got me in a corner all a nigga can do is bust
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| It may be you
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| There’s gonna be a lot of dead before I’m through
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| I’m 'bout to break off niggas who play me and dis' me
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| Try to switch from side to side like they whip me
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| The damage is done
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| Source Magazine, you’re the first one
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| You try to dis Chuck, Cube and me
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| How the fuck you pick us 3?
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| You punk motherfuckers ain’t shit, you’re just a bunch of hoes
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| Makin' money off the pros
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| And when I see I get you in my sights
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| I give your ass a story to write
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| Cause it’s on
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| It’s on
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| It’s on motherfucker and you can’t turn the shit off
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| Catch you in the streets and your ass’ll get tossed
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| Bang! |
| Bang! |
| Bang! |
| Cause it ain’t no thang
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| To put in work and watch your head burst
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| A lot of fans ain’t shit
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| Let me repeat
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| A lot of fans ain’t shit
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| Quick to flip if our group don’t hit
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| They don’t make you nothin but a pop ho bitch
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| And I don’t need ya
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| I love to bleed ya
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| All I ever wanted was a real nigga’s praise
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| But the sad motherfuckin' fact
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| Is that ain’t that many real motherfuckers these days
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| Game knows game I know too many who plays the name
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| And I can make it in the music or the street game
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| I still got hoes that’ll work, still got crews that’ll hit
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| Still roll with an extra clip
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| And those who think they’ll stop me, doubt it
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| Those motherfuckers better think about it
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| You’d best to let me rap
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| Ice back on the streets?
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| You don’t want that
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| Cause I break ill
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| And you’ll really have to Body Count the cops I’ll kill, it’s on
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| It’s on motherfucker and you can’t turn the shit off
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| Catch you in the streets and your ass’ll get tossed
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| Bang! |
| Bang! |
| Bang! |
| Cause it ain’t no thing
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| To put in work and watch your body jerk
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| It’s on
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| It’s on motherfucker you goddamn right
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| It’s on, my royalty cheque, yeah, fool, I write my own
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| I own my own label put my own shit out
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| So no one tells me what the fuck to talk about
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| And all the suckas that said I was through
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| You need to wake up to my view
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| I’m fallen off
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| Ha! |
| Ha! |
| That’s a joke!
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| You motherfuckers are still unknown and broke
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| And I’m stankin' rich
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| My fuckin maid lives better than you, bitch
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| So shut your trap
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| When it comes to this level of game, you don’t know jacks
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| CIA, FBI, IRS
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| Try to flip us out for sweat
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| But they’ll never sweat you son
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| Cause you’re broke and you’re dumb and you’re no threat to no one
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| Them fools don’t play
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| I gotta deal with those motherfuckers every day
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| They’d love to get me behind bars
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| They hawk a nigga like I’m Carlos Escobar
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| But in a way I am
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| Been puttin dope on the street for years and don’t give a damn
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| So I’m thinkin about them, friend
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| The real motherfuckin gangstas wanna see me end
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| It’s gonna end up in a bloodbath, no doubt
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| That’s the only way I’m going out, it’s on
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| It’s on
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| It’s on motherfucker and you can’t turn the shit off
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| Catch you in the streets and your ass’ll get tossed
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| Bang! |
| Bang! |
| Bang! |
| Cause it ain’t no thing
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| To put in work and watch your head burst
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| It’s on |