| I raised up my project window
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| And I smell Indo
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| Hollered at my kin folk
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| After that I big smoke
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| I hit my nigga Gutta with them gutta ways
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| All of my cousins bustin' K’s
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| So I was lead astray
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| And I don’t pray, so I’m thinking bout death
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| I never once, thought bout blinking myself
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| Cause I got bank to accept!
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| You heard that green and yellow cd
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| That bitch gutta!
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| The world-wide struggle
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| Or the one about my mother (Child so bad)
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| I’m bangin' on the corner down in Cali
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| With the Bloods and Crips
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| See Lil' Boosie, yeah Lil' Boosie, man we love that shit!
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| I figured that I’d die in jail if I stay in the hood
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| So I’m tryin' to make a mil
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| And get the fuck out Baton Rouge
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| I wish 2Pac'a hear the shit that I was speaking to you
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| I betcha 2Pac'a have Lil' Boosie on an album or two
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| And did my daddy go to Thug Mansion?
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| (Shiiit)If he did
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| I know he saved a spot for his kid
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| And we gone G' it!
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| Keep it gutta, nigga! |
| (Gutta, gutta, gutta! Yeah)
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| Cause I’m a victim of this game! |
| (Victim of this game mane!)
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| Let’s keep it gutta, nigga! |
| (All the way gutta!)
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| Cause I was taught to get it hard like a man! |
| For sheezy!
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| Verse two, is for my hearse crew
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| Like Raw Nitty, Lil D, and Big Ro too
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| Do you remember smoking dust with Silky Slim, headbussa?!
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| When we was slangin' nine
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| And had these niggas scared of us!
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| My hood full of floods (floods)
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| But my hood full of thugs
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| Who in that pen
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| Rep Baton Rouge til the day that they touch
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| And you don’t know a nigga gutta as me! |
| (Gutta)
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| Who can tell ya some shit that ya mother’a see
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| Like you bein' locked up, til 2003
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| When you 'posed to be out chea
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| Flickin' and ballin like me
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| And all I see, is eyes on me
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| So like Pac
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| I hope it’s not another fucking robbery
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| I ain' no rookie!
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| Fourteen, sellin' cookies!
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| Had all the hoes looking!
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| And ya know why nigga
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| Because I’m gutta!
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| My pants hang low
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| My eyes looking wicked too
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| My throwback cost 400
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| It’s from 1952!
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| And ya bitch, you! |
| (Bitch you!)
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| If you wanna leave this club
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| I suggest
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| You don’t come around here and try to beef with us
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| This for my niggas and guhls
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| Keep ya head up!
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| And I’mma keep my bread up
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| And make ya throw the set up!
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| I’m keepin' it gutta!
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| What you about robbing to eat
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| What you about peeping yo hood out
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| To see who want ya to cease
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| That’s the beginning
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| The ending, is 10 billion (10 billion)
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| Then I’m threw
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| Sign all my niggas deals so they can live, like Lil Boo
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| I was led on this path to hate
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| Since I was little
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| Across the street a ship plant
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| And next door a fuckin' killer
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| Calvin Ricks was the shit
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| It wasn’t no ridin' in South
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| I use to joy his purple jeep
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| When I walk in my house
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| And on my chedda chase
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| I done saw better days
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| Never thought my selfish ways
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| Have me blowing purple haze
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| It hurts to say (Hurts to say)
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| That my daddy left this world
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| I wish he could be here to see my pretty ass lil girl
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| But he can’t, so I drink
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| Get mad and I don’t think (Fuck it)
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| Smoke dro, by the ounce
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| And sip syrup, by the pint
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| Ain' too many can fuck with me
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| That’s on my generation
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| Shouts out to all my niggas
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| And my haters who be hatin', get ya hate on! |