| Smooth getaway, yeah
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| One time on my ass (getaway)
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| 'Bout to make this hundred yard dash…
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| With the cash
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| Yo, I’m fleein' the crime scene on the Major Deegan
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| Power steerin', lost the handle and the Jeep spin
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| Deep in the seat, high-pursuit by the precinct
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| My co-defendant turned state and let the beast in
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| They rushed my old Earth lab
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| Grabbed 50 G’s cash and the stash, and let the Glocks splash
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| Son dash down the fire escape past the weed gate
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| The weed gate, thought it was a sting, cocked the Tre' 8
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| Jakes givin' chase, now the dread’s must 'scape
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| I was creepin' down the staircase, we met face-to-face
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| In the lobby, cold stares, show no fear
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| We out for now, but next time we might go there 'cause Po’s here
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| Must’ve turned down the walkie-talkie
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| I thought I heard one tell the other that he caught me
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| Damn! |
| They got my man, he knows shit
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| Bitch nigga that I rolled with told shit!
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| I laid low, 007 'til it get dark
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| He told where my Wis' live and where the whip’s parked
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| Got my address off the license plate
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| That eliminate, headin' to my next restin' place
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| Uncertain, my Wis' peeped from behind the curtain
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| And seen the high-beam from the chicky lurkin'
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| The high-speed chase got me swervin'
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| I needed a diversion, crashed in the side of a Suburban
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| In the mirror, I’m starin' at the eyes of the law
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| Couldn’t jump out, fucked up the drivers-side door
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| Called China, «Meet me in a half with the Pathfinder
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| No time to talk, I’ll fill you in when I find ya»
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| Stopped at a neighborhood diner, brought me some attire
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| And swore to hold me down in the fire
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| (The word on the street) They can’t trace my rap sheets
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| Still, I creep swift, tryin' to slip all heat
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| (The word on the street) This thing’s way beyond deep
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| Promise me you’ll keep ya mouth closed with no leaks
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| (What's the word on the street?) The evidence concrete
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| My Co-D mysteriously got set free
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| (The word on the street) The photographs let the beast splash Through the
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| projects the last few weeks
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| Yo, you bein' watched like you new on the block from roof tops
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| Get your moves on, these hot shots pop, music stops
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| Party’s over, bold soldier move for his holster
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| Shot the lights out, struck the bouncer in his shoulder
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| Hard times for Po, I can’t control the masses
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| Scream for more, backstage, we sling V.I.P. |
| passes
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| Jakes sprayin' mace, riots takin' place
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| When the Clan show they face, the fans slow they pace
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| Get your blunt rolled, fuck the Five-0, they want it, dun' know
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| Bitches get trampled, niggas wildin' in the front row
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| Fire Marshall catch a beat-down, tryin' to cut my sound
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| Radio dispatcher, back-up, bustin' rounds
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| Without intermission from a crouch-position
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| Bullets ricocheted off the strobe-light, strikin' Christians
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| My nigga slipped in, 'nuff ammunition to bust back
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| Fuck that, them outta-town cats’ll take the rap
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| It’s war on the dance floor, quarter to 4
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| Before we peeled off, they tried to seal off the back door
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| Gats for the beast, high-pursuit down the side street
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| Shot up my getaway Jeep, crashed the front glass
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| And blew the head-rest off the passenger seat
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| I grabbed the heat, ditched the whip and then escaped on feet
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| While the locals interrogated for names and photos
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| Work for Five-0, swappin' info for doe |