| A couple funerals, hit the mass up
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| Then the feds scooped half of the whole hood up
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| Couple niggas start pointing fingers
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| Around the town, back to the base to dropping to have a hot single
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| Half the whole world saying what’s up
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| And the fans were tryin to see what was up
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| But fuck y’all!
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| They nare witness, who said they bought something or sold something to me
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| Niggas all in my business
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| And this that real life, no bullshittin'
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| This that straight facts, no fiction
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| I see ho nigga, and I just feel friction
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| Give them one to they head, leave they top missin'
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| Top missin, like my new car
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| Rock glistenin', two broads
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| Watch clickin', I’m too hard, stop bitchin'
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| Shit get high, fuck it when the shots hit him
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| Same game, they got Pac missin'
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| Big too, they put y’all in the same place
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| I hope when they hit me dawg they put me in the same place
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| I’m in a place where you can get bombed on
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| Same time you turning your car on, shots fired
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| We all know the con artist slippin'
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| So I keep big hammers in every car I’m whippin'
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| Just in case we catch a 48 hour victim
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| And they can up and get em and I will not forget him
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| I look around man, the game is tryna pull me in
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| But if I go back it’s not half, nigga I’m fully in
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| The coke sales, murdering, the bullyin'
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| Nigga fuck what it coulda been
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| I swear to God you young punks don’t want me in the hood again
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| It’s only jail or the grave is where they gonna put me in
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| In my day I done ducked about a dozen beats
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| I’m from Harlem man, you get killed over your cousin’s beef
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| The only never fear I had was when I hugged the streets
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| We say life’s a bitch but I love the streets
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| Shit I got this Porsche out it too
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| And I love rockin' Air Forces, of course…
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| We rich niggas from Porsche to Aston IIs
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| Bitch niggas of course we’ll blast at you |