| As we proceed
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| To give you what you need
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| B.I.G., muthafuckas
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| Lil' Cease, muthafuckas
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| Yo, handsome Hansun
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| Got dough like the Hansons
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| Niggas come fast, went out like Helly Hanson
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| Mr. Bristal, you will never catch me dancin'
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| Often prancing, only in a mansion
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| In the party, I’m high and drunk, I see you glancin'
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| Never blow my cool, even if it’s jammin'
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| If shit hit the fan, then I got the cannon
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| Cock, lick-shots, leave 'em where they standin'
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| You can call the cops, I never get ran in
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| Call Blake C., y’all get the understanding
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| Who my man is, who the fam' is
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| All that bullshit you talk? |
| Can it, we own the planet
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| It’s a definite, niggas over money, reppin' it
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| Armageddon it, destroy everything when we settin' it
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| You delicate, far away in the country where you better get
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| Assets in, nigga; |
| y’all need to get wit' some veterans
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| You don’t wanna play around…
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| You don’t wanna play around…
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| You don’t wanna play around with me!
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| No, boy! |
| I’ll kill you!
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| You don’t wanna play around…
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| You don’t wanna play around…
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| You don’t wanna play around with me!
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| No, boy! |
| I’ll kill you!
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| Yo, yo, yo
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| Niggas wanna start shit? |
| Push the button!
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| See the dough flip from the carpet
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| Me and Bris' about to lock down the market
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| Gats be sparkin', they lie too
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| Not Crips and Bloods, that’s Piru
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| D-Roc I’ma die for you
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| 'Til this day, I’ma ride for you
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| And God forbid, gotta die too
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| When you pull that gat, I’ll be right beside you
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| To guide you, on who to hit and not to
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| If a nigga guilty, got to die too, that’s the real-la
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| You’re talkin' to the roach killer, for more scrilla
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| About to upset New York like Reggie Miller
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| Once they say you turn thug, you turn killer
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| Man, it’s hard to turn back when a nigga feel ya
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| That’s why they tell ya you’re nobody 'til somebody kill ya
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| That’s why until ya play it back, don’t get too familiar
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| 'Cause if you get too close, my niggas might fuckin' kill ya, nigga
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| You don’t wanna play around…
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| You don’t wanna play around…
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| You don’t wanna play around with me!
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| No, boy! |
| I’ll kill you!
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| You don’t wanna play around…
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| You don’t wanna play around…
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| You don’t wanna play around with me!
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| No, boy! |
| I’ll kill you!
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| Another one
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| The Queen Bee, extraordinaire
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| Lil' Cease, comin' at’cha
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| For the year 2000 and the new millennium, Uh
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| Fuck all you hoes, I blows like flutes
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| Bitches don’t shake my hand, they salute the lieutenant
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| Rich men kiss the back of the hand of the royal highness
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| Pocahontas, Mafia’s behind us, ballin' like Utah
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| Didn’t think a ghetto bitch could come this far
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| From pushin' Buicks to candy apple red Jaguars
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| Bitch think I’m rich, I could rock a FUBU suit
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| A furry Kangol with some cowboy boots
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| And still be the shit of the night
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| When I come through
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| You be on the side holdin' ya cups like the bums do
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| Waitin' for the Queen to put some change in it
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| I pull out a 'G' and drop it with a hundred grand left in my pocket
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| I promoted this shit, so I got’s to make a profit
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| And all the ends are sins to my men’s, down at Spofford
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| Me and Lil' Cease, it’s part two, me partners
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| Layin' niggas down like carpenters
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| So pardon us, like Nike’s, we just do it
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| We ain’t amateurs to this shit, we used to it
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| And all the bodies I killed, keep 'em on file
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| So when they anniversaries come, we pop Cristal
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| Ask Bristal, the Golden Child, TA-DOW!
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| Take it how I gives it, you talk it, you live it
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| And don’t forget it, bitches
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| Stop tryin' to sound like her too, bitches, uh
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| You don’t wanna play around…
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| You don’t wanna play around…
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| You don’t wanna play around with me!
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| No, boy! |
| I’ll kill you!
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| You don’t wanna play around…
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| You don’t wanna play around…
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| You don’t wanna play around with me!
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| No, boy! |
| I’ll kill you!
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| Ya’ll motherfuckers do not wanna play with us
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| Ya’ll don’t wanna play with us
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| We will fuckin' kill you
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| Set the fucka’s right
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| I’ll fuckin' kill you
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| I don’t give a fuck who it is
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| You don’t wanna play around |