| All my bitches call me papi
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| Sloppy pockets, I’m poppin'
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| All these dollars I been clockin'
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| It ain’t no way to stop it
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| My wrist so rocky, Liberace watchin', 3 mil on watches
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| So much ice, drippin' off me
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| You and your bitch could play hockey
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| I’m sippin' lean out a coconut cup, I’m in the tropics
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| I been countin' so much money, had to find me a hobby
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| I’m Czechoslaka, they watchin'
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| I got Rastas with choppers
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| Got the machine gun with cartridges
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| They runnin' in, they ain’t knockin'
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| Steve Austin flossin', tell them it’s a new boss in office
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| And if we ain’t talking profit, it ain’t no use in callin'
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| These niggas triple crossin', double cross, quadruple your losses
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| I heard them haters tried to block, I went bought two new Ferraris
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| Double down with two pistols, ain’t missin' no target
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| Right before the funeral, let you pick out your coffin
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| Had to triple cross the double cross, quadruple your losses
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| Sippin' lean like a coffee bean, ain’t sleepin' on shawty
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| OK I doubled up the work, I put them things in the officeThen put them on the
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| freeway, now I feel like I’m Rossi
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| Seen them peoples in my rear view, hit the gas and I lost 'em
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| Middle finger out the sunroof, they just mad cause I’m flossin'
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| Trap
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| All these rubber bands, fuck what I’m gon do with a wallet?
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| I’m in the booth countin' money, I’m so goddamn cocky
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| My lil' bitch pop her pussy, I just might pop me a molly
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| That clean codeine got me geeked up, spill lean all over Versace
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| I got killers with me, they don’t do no talkin' or boxin'
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| I got that long bread, I’m talkin' footlong pizza, no toppings
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| Throw them goons a little bread
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| We’ll take your baby’s adoption
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| And we ain’t worried about the feds
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| AR’s in secret compartments
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| Ain’t been to sleep in the longest, I sip that drank like it’s coffee
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| They say that Gucci’s a Martian, I buy my enemies coffins
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| We handle business like bosses and treat the streets like an office
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| I had a duplex with a million worth of bricks in the closet
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| Double down with two pistols, ain’t missin' no target
|
| Right before the funeral, let you pick out your coffin
|
| Had to triple cross the double cross, quadruple your losses
|
| Sippin' lean like a coffee bean, ain’t sleepin' on shawty
|
| OK I doubled up the work, I put them things in the office
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| Then put them on the freeway, now I feel like I’m Rossi
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| Seen them peoples in my rear view, hit the gas and I lost 'em
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| Middle finger out the sunroof, they just mad cause I’m flossin'
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| Trap
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| You ain’t know I spent that dough
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| And you might catch contacts
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| I got shooters on my side and if I say the word
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| Then they ready for combat
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| Like Vietnam, wartime ain’t no joke
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| Niggas be playin' till the bullets start sprayin'
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| Can’t hide these guns 'cause the clips too long
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| Hunting for him, catch him hiding in his honeycomb
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| Turn his motherfucking house to a haunted home
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| Money long, get you touched in your front lawn
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| Shots so loud setting off car alarms
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| Run along, or be the next nigga dunked on
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| You be swearin' that you niggas got done wrong
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| Get you jacked, no mask, no gloves on
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| Beat a nigga ass, then turn it to a club song
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| Vet in the game, got packs to prove
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| Young niggas call me Uncle Juice
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| I got more cash than Uncle Scrooge
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| Ya’ll niggas made up like Dr. Seuss
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| All ice, no CZ
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| I ball, ya’ll niggas in the minor leagues
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| Real shit, I got the shit on lock
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| Bout to put this game in a DDT |