| Rainstorm the back of the bank, bustin loose like Muggsy
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| Typhoons, Kurupt Calhoun
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| with a platoon of backwards ass buffoons
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| Ready to shoot anything that moves
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| Load to tunes from The Blue Lagoon
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| Mask on, khakis, ounced on house shoes
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| So I’ma start it off skitzin on the first nigga
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| Saul hit the stack, heard me, hear me?
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| Heard that, word don’t pass the front do'
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| before you gotta show em your heart and soul and Desert Eagle fo'
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| Explode then watch em fold, the other niggaz froze
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| He knew better, mask in an all blue sweater
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| Two pumps ready for a riot
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| Full Baretta, six hostages with a loss of oxygen
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| Wet as a river, sixteen bricks to flip
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| After I flip these bitch niggaz for they shit
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| I been down with the twist since eighty-six
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| Hyperactive with a automatic, snappin reaction
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| I’m sick of waitin, a thirty-eight, I’m jackin for Daytons
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| Kick the door in for sure, double four’s rammin
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| Hollow bandit, ready to knock him off if he standin
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| Position the cannons, telegraph the whole parameter
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| Paralyze anything that walks through perimeter
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| Cervical veins lacerated lost to missiles
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| Interrogated and I paraded posted with pistols
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| Time for war this is when the heart’s exposed
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| Change up the game, cockin and sparks explode
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| I’m a marksman, touch of death, ten steps to draw
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| And that’s all, end to anything before
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| In a world war, off like a Concorde jet
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| But fool, D.P.G.'s the set
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| In a world war, this is when the heart’s exposed
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| Change up the game, cock, sparks explode
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| Manic-depressive panic and then start skitzin
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| Not givin a fuck while all y’all bitchin
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| Dis is for all my G’s, my ho-mies
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| Flippin birds and servin ki’s
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| I’m with King T and Tha Liks, Alkahol-ed it up like BITCH, get the fuck off my dick!
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| I got pistols, pills, acid, bomb, crank
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| Crystallized coke and limes, I don’t give a fuck! |