| now I got more than my swagger back
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| listen here homie
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| Mr. Mick Jaggers back (uh-oo)
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| young Zab of rap
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| only difference is this Judah
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| will shoot ya, then get back to rappin'
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| traffin' crack threw half and Hampton
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| make stacks and stacks and thats a fact man
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| y’all cant fuck wit me
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| baby girl I drag my nuts for free
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| comfortably
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| and ya know I got my pimpin together
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| got my game, got my cain, got my limpin'
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| together, shit bitch you better get your
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| switchin' together cuz this back-hand
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| will get you together, hope you know that
|
| and sometime I cant belive my niggaz
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| still in all, I’ll give it all just to feed my
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| niggaz, eat, dont stop homie breathe my niggaz
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| I need y’all more than y’all ever need me my niggaz
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| this is for all my niggaz on the block thats pumpin'
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| I think the cops is comin' - Squalie!
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| all my homies on the block with somethin'
|
| hold it down I think the cops is comin' - Squalie!
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| for all my chicks on the strip that switch
|
| be easy, I think the cops is comin' - Squalie!
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| all my ladies who boost for higher
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| Prada, Gucci attire watch whos behind ya! |
| Squalie
|
| Yo we livin' the life of
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| loca-vida, coke and cheever
|
| drive-by blow smoke on the policia
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| like fuck em! |
| I got no love for em
|
| Squalie! |
| but I’m tired of runnin' from
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| Squalie! |
| duckin' from Squalie!
|
| shit and we ain’t do nothin to Squalie!
|
| its pay-back we buckin at Squalie!
|
| no more gettin searched, frisked for
|
| nothin by Squalie! |
| Hey so sell ya pack
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| sell ya crack like when dickens was near
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| Juelz Santana Dickens is here yea
|
| Yea so Zeke is ya rollin' with me
|
| this the theme song homie fuck the police!
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| we back at it, our crack habit is that drastic
|
| measures we taken em', maken we’ll clap at ya
|
| peel off on dirt bikes and raptors
|
| squirt pipes at bastards y’all cant fuck wit me!
|
| Hey ma, its J.R. and L’s
|
| it ain’t hard to tell
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| we da niggaz in we da niggaz in Maury and car alarm da fell wit that hard to
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| sell
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| that ain’t hard to sell
|
| and a gun that’ll hit you from far as hell
|
| u quick to flash, we’ll whip yo' ass
|
| couple shots hit your glass
|
| Dip-shit ya whip will crash
|
| I got the sickest past
|
| stay skippin' class, pitchin' Hash
|
| all day, stood there
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| flippin' halves
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| when I heard, Squalie!
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| I dished and dashed
|
| ditched the hash
|
| park, neutral, first gear
|
| hit the gas, now we rich with cash
|
| and when I hear Squalie!
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| I sit and laugh, dawg you kiss his ass
|
| cooked more caine, push off dames
|
| while you dumb niggaz stand there
|
| and look all lame
|
| I done popped and took off chains
|
| now Ivory dump ice on me like my team
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| won a football game! |