| First and foremost, I got to figure out what hurts the whore most
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| Before we show up at this nigga’s house
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| We can rip him out the drivers seat, pin him down
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| Grab the hag and jam a rag in her mouth
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| Wrap some string around her wrists, and tie her feet
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| You guys toss her in the back of the van
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| I’ll be smackin' her man with the back of my hand
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| But that’s just half of the plan
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| I can’t believe this fuckin snake used to pass as my fam
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| Come up and shake my hand like it wasn’t fake, damn
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| You take the van to my cousin’s place in the countryside
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| Celph and Christian, I want you guys to help me lump this guy
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| We’ll beat his ass within half an inch of his life
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| And fuck him up, just enough to make his mother cry
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| Then we’ll leave the punk beside town square
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| Tied to a street pole, so people see his lump behind out bare
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| We’ll come and ride out where this slutty flirt leads to
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| Strip her down to her birthday suit
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| Last but not least, drive inside a farm or couch
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| Chillin by the barn and dump her where the heffers squirt their poop
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| You got it?
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| Alright, enough! |
| Enough!
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| Fuck that! |
| Fuck that shit!
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| Yo, chill!
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| Holy shit, dude he’s bleeding a lot
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| I ain’t no doctor, but he ain’t movin, I can’t see if he’s breathin or not
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| Yo nevermind, y’all just need to stop and check his signs
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| Feel his neck, and find his pulse, if he dies, we’re gettin time
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| (Guys, what? We were only supposed to scare him)
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| Yo shut the fuck up
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| (The cops are gonna bust us man, his family knows my parents)
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| Oh god, there’s no pulse, there’s no repairin'
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| This niggas dead, I know his mother too, that bitch is overbearin
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| I need a cigarette
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| (Take some fuckin' Nicorette, Lou we killed a guy)
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| Yo stop sayin that, maybe he’s still alive
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| (Someone try CPR, he’ll survive)
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| If he’s got any blood that’s still inside
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| Both of you shut up, I think I see a car
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| (What do we do?!)
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| We’ll get some plastic bags and duct tape
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| Cut 'em up, package him, dig a hole and leave this faggot upstate
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| (Oh that’s just great, we’re all gonna end up in a cell)
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| Or in the chair, you whiny bitch, but you’ll love it in hell
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| Come on you assholes, this isn’t helpin
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| Christ, he fuckin stinks
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| He dumped on himself, this nigga’s smellin
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| That’s what happens when you split your melon
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| Give me the switchblade from the trunk
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| We’ll make two stitches fit his well and a ditch made for just one
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| (We're fuckin triple felons)
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| Quit your yellin, help me wrap the arms up
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| We got to get this job done before any more cars come
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| We’ll go meet up with Arson and take care of the bitch
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| Giftwrapped in a sinsack and dump the pair in a ditch
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| Uhh, dispatch this is Car 51
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| Possible 1−8-7 suspects loading bags shaped like body parts in a trunk
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| (Yo it’s the fuckin' cops)
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| I told you assholes a cars gonna come
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| Hey yo it looks now, let’s go before they start with the guns
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| This is Car 51 requesting backup, we are in pursuit
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| Of three suspects in a gold Honda Accord
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| PA license plate… Bravo David Sally 81 28
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| Possible 187, repeat possible 187, requesting backup
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| Come on out, we got the area surrounded
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| With SWAT teams around it and you’re going downtown kid
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| Sit down bitch, we ain’t goin no place
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| Move again, I’ll slash your whole face off with this cold blade
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| No wait, it’s time to go home son, where you goin with this?
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| Son? |
| Eat a dick copper, no one needs to know my business
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| Just get a chopper and lots of money, before I chop this honey’s head off
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| It’s too late when the scene has gotten bloody
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| Yo stop this funny stuff
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| Fuck you, and bring a case of beer
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| A lager, and don’t bother tryin to make me wait for years
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| I got a taste for smearin' blood, plus I need a pack of smokes
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| So we don’t slaughter, hold the pigs or I’mma slash your throat
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| Stop screamin, bitch, I’ll give you somethin to cry about
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| Snipers, that’s a go, he dropped his weapon, FIRE NOW (gunshots)
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| Affirmative, target hit, he’s on the ground lyin' down
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| SWAT Team move in, sargeant turn those sirens down |