| It’s B.K. |
| kids, count the D.O.A. |
| enforcers
|
| When mauve goose come off with G’s runnin the horses
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| It’s only right I come with rhythm and weapons
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| Ghetto slime and Stetsons, militant like Waco, Texas
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| Section shot apart from rhymes that are gun-smart
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| And PJ sparks like a swing cloth, with metal off
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| Cock D and drug pump like the mescaline
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| To my left, is the drug version of Billy Madison
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| Rocks with sling, women diets like Mabel King
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| It’s a Medina thing, fat knots or chicken wings
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| Eat my ass if you want somethin
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| Fuck the frontin, cause goons own lyrics like David Ruffin
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| Welfare since birth, speak earth
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| Morbid tales bout cats in jail, hangin rap kings with rusty nails
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| Five bloods, one trash, fallouts and ghetto war
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| Peace to PJ’s, Adrian Brothers, take the board |