| Boss nigga, go figure
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| Even if you talk shit, I won’t diss ya'
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| Pull up with the chop stick, uh
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| It’s a stick up
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| Niggas think they flow sick, but so
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| Excuse me
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| A lane switching, no snitching
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| Aim with ya' languages, no bitching
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| Same as these lame niggas that stay simping
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| I stay with that 'K gripping, I can’t kick it
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| Even if you aim listen, them shots missing
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| You talking, you was sneak dissing, but that’s fishing
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| I prolly got some beef, vision, go wash dishes
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| 'Cause most you niggas stay fibbing
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| You stay slipping
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| Niggas think they flow sick, but it’s so
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| Excuse me, I’m-…
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| Excuse me, I do not fuck with no broke niggas and that’s on my set
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| I been getting bread since I was young had to grind and sweat
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| I remember trapping out the crib where the fiends was at
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| I was prolly selling some narcotics in yo culdisac
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| Bitch, I get that money, I do everything I do to eat
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| If my family ain’t got no food, then I don’t get no sleep
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| Had to bring that action 'cause my pops done told me talk is cheap
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| Gangstas move in silence, you don’t see us when and when we walk, we creep
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| You can’t touch a boss nigga, go figure
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| Even if you talk shit, I won’t diss ya'
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| Pull up with the chop stick, uh
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| It’s a stick up
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| Niggas think they flow sick, but so
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| Excuse me |