| Hotboxing the whip with piff from the ziplock
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| Guns come from Big Lots, blunts from the Quick Stop
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| Scheming on a plot trying to rob Mr. Big Shot
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| Strip you for your little chip of the rock
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| Stay equipped with the Glocks, you left for dead sifting through rocks
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| Gave your girlfriend my dick in a box
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| All the dirt I got on my hands I should have rocks in my wristwatch
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| But I pick Glocks over chocolates in the gift box
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| Chase you down the staircase, pop you in the lobby
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| Feed you hot slugs, each shot is a hot tamale
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| Spot where we put the bodies is hot as the Mojave
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| Probably time to find a new hobby
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| Before cops is sending out the bloodhounds, rounding up the posse
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| Reckless niggas with more records than disc jockeys
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| Play their records on CNN and Hard Copy
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| Play the part where they show the heart in the autopsy
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| Everyone of you is alive, your death has got nothing to do with it
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| You already survived many deaths, but you don’t know anything about it
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| How much have you learned in this life?
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| How much have you truly learned that makes a difference?
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| I’m a motherfucking headhunter, a cold winter to a dead summer
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| Doesn’t matter the weather, I’m still a lead-dumper
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| You can find the fucking body in the red dumpster
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| 20+ years, cousin couldn’t dead hunger (Still hungry, motherfuckers)
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| See it’s the gutter that I rap
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| I nickname gats, they my butterfly effect
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| The boxcutter or the TEC
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| Some of my brothers is on their deen, some of them provide the wet
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| And some of them provide the birdos
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| Jail motherfuckers that’ll buck you on their furlough
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| I run through a wall, never heard of hurdles
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| Manos de Piedra, I’m Roberto, you a fucking herb though
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| I’ve been getting money since my third show
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| My new Kel-Tec is berzerko, only smoke the purple
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| Y’all just fucking stand around in circles
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| Me and Jus Allah controversial |