| 3 in the morning, you hop on the train
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| 3 Brooklyn fiends is scheming on your chain
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| Mad blunts and licks to the head, you red
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| Better sober up quick or you might get dead
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| There’s no one around so ain’t no reason to scream out
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| Here’s your chance to be a gangsta nigga, back that thing out
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| The next move you make will decide your fate
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| Will it be die on the train or live life behind the gate
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| You framing minor, you contemplate prison rape
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| Your heart skip a beat and you select upstate
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| It’s on, you get a lump in your throat, niggas weapons are drawn
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| You so shook, you shoot straight through your coat
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| 2 down, 1 boogie but before you gone
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| The train stops and one of New York City’s Finest jumps on
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| «Whatchu gonna do.»
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| 2:30 in the morning on a friday night
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| It’s one of those types of nights that everything’s goin right
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| In a club, fishing for bitches, anything tryin to bite
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| Then the one that you want gets caught in your sight
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| Face — picture perfect, big titties and fat ass
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| She’s asked if she wanna drink and she kindly pass
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| Her response let you know she’s not the average stunt
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| She asks «do you got a dutch», you say «yeah», she roll a blunt
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| Weed and conversation good, you fill the evening with laughter
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| Then Shorty like: «yo, whatchu doing after»
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| She continues what she’s doing is outta character
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| But, she live’s alone and she wants you to smash her
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| You bug, you can’t believe that she tryin to fuck
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| You like: «let's bounce», then you think «Lady Luck»
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| You exit the club, hop up in your truck
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| But when you get to Brooklyn East New York, you get stuck up
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| «Whatchu gonna do.»
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| 1 a.m. — you in the studio, dropping verses about how you flip kilos
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| Get paper commit murder and pimp on hoes
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| Crazy ice around your neck with the thugged out flows
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| But it sounds like game to the street wise pro’s
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| Cause you be blabbing the that you don’t even know
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| Straight pillow talking, I hope you walk the walk
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| And be doing all the shit that’s blasting out of shortie’s walkman
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| The last verse is laid, your men is like dope fiend
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| All of a sudden the sound wide open
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| 3 niggas come in, screaming «where the cash»
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| And you know the shit is real cause they ain’t rocking masks
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| They rocking big ass canons dawg, you better think fast
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| Do you run what’s yours or go for yours and blaaast.
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| «whatchu gonna do.» |