| Crazy head get out there God
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| Blast that nigga hard
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| It’s all real over here
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| Killa Sin, 9th Prince, what
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| We don’t give a fuck
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| Yo, it’s burning season
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| Y’all thugs is guiltly of high treason
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| Many of them bleeding
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| Some getting sent to the brain for no reason
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| On the streets niggas kill without a license, in Scarsville
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| It’s all for real cause everything is real
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| Don’t sleep on the average cat he’s packing steel
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| Ayo nigga I’m on the cash rules
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| Wasted in my hand, half a hundred grand
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| Injure that pretender in the black land
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| Heard he be the crack man
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| Selling major jums (?) by the pager son
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| He the one sporting crazy tunes (?) lace 'em with your tongue
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| So here’s the plan
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| Get the Glock I got the doo-wop
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| Follow him for two blocks
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| And pop him if he do cock
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| Scat back better snap his nap back for that black
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| Pass the stacks to Fat Cat and find out where the crack’s at
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| Rolling out make sure you keep your phone out
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| So I can reach your shit quick
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| Get his whip stripped and take my own route
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| For safety
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| Mistakes be for hasty
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| Many jakes who chase me
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| But never have the space to embrace me
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| A fool’s game where all the rules change
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| I never move the same
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| But who’s to blame
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| My nigga Buddha came with the ruger aim
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| Somebody screamed stop the violence
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| So this nigga had the silencer spitting black talons at any challenger
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| Yo, it was a ghetto Vietnam I tried to flee and harm
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| Me and Har my nigga Buddha caught about three in the arm
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| But one traveled to his abdomen
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| I grabbed him and embraced him
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| Had to see how bad this crab had laced him
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| Yo, rapidly bleeding started pleading for his life
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| Take care my seed and my wife
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| Make sure she’s feeding him right
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| True indeed black I got your back
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| I hold it down on the real
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| May you rest in peace son
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| I see you on the ground
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| Many times I fought the urge to resort to crime
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| But I find my criminal mind complying with the villain kind
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| I’m feeling nines 'til they overflow
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| Going blow for blow with the rest
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| Cause them try and test the best
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| It’s a slug fest
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| Round one sounds wrong I found one
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| Lurking in the back now clapped him with my pound son
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| The shells drop
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| Old ladies yell for the cops and shorty shot shit
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| Fell in the arms of his pops and didn’t mean to
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| Why he had them running away
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| Should have taught him how to duck when he heard the fucking gun spray
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| I say a prayer for the kid, keep stepping
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| With my weapon cocked wetting up the block every section hot
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| The gats flash out by leaps and bounds
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| Now police and hounds making up grounds
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| Cause they chasing me down
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| I’m all alone in this war zone
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| My brain’s under stress
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| Thinking I’m blessed if I can make it home
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| Scared to death kid
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| Catch my breath I bear left
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| Hit the weeds and then rest to calm my chest
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| But an undercover had discovered my plot and plan
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| I shot the man so I dropped my Glock and ran
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| Get the fuck out the way, move, move
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| Get the fuck out the way, oh shit
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| Yo, I made a rally to a dark alley
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| Where I bumped heads with crackhead Fred and his bitch named Sally
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| She had a down low lab for me to go to
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| Where I could relax and count stacks like I’m supposed to
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| Keep my whereabouts on the hush hush
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| I had to provide some heroin high, sick grooves, and five bags of dust
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| I didn’t wet up or let it slide because I was petrified
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| If homicide got me they gonna watch me die
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| Fuck that, I’m going all out
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| No half stepping
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| My last weapon is cocked to keep that ass jetting
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| I lay low for like five days or so
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| Put some troopers on the block round the clock to make me dough
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| Yo out of sight and out of mind be my motto
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| I promise myself I’m gonna make it to see tomorrow
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| Word up, Killarm '96
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| Killa Sin, word up
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| 9th Prince
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| The saga continues
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| For real though gotta let these niggas know
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| To the rounds in the cut, all real niggas raise up |