| Pardon my gang affil,
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| But you’re stepping on a rod in the danger field
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| Weezy Baby, how do the Manger feel?
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| Respect my aim because I aim to kill
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| Hahaha, Old bitch ass nigga,
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| Abercrombie and Fitch ass nigga,
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| I talk rich shit because I’m a rich ass nigga,
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| I hope you in the zone because I pitch fast nigga,
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| Ha, I smoke something bitch,
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| My money comes faster than the roadrunner bitch
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| I keep it on the side just in case you might wonder
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| Tech 9 Four 5 just in case you like numbers
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| Haha, bitch nigga we might jump ya
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| 2 Step all in yo face, we might Unk ya
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| Hahaha, bandana on the right side
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| East side until I die
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| You better change like it’s Mardi Gras,
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| And we pull guns like Quick Draw McGraw
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| See I’m from New Orleans, Louisiana
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| And he’s from Compton, baby, bandana
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| We carry them caskets, we tote them hammers
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| Su to the Woop, yeah, that’s our grammar
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| Lemme hear you say Su Woo
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| Su Woo, Su Woo
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| Young Money
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| And that’s perfect cause perfect is to me
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| What’s perfect as Hallie or a jab from Ali
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| So capitalise the P cause perfect is Godly
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| Black Wall Street, the perfect family, The Cosby
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| All I need is a perfect bitch
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| How’s B, I passed the baton on Solange
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| I’m sure like Al B but a boujy B would never give me the perfect PIRU
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| Hello Brooklyn I can’t see, cause if I did I would SNOOP DOGG
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| Cut it in half and you will see that this Philadelphia piece on my head
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| Like a low Ceaser, wear it to the hood and get me street cred like Four Visa’s
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| niggas fucking with Weezy, I will slow leak em
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| Hang em from a telephone pole like my old sneakers
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| Red bandana for no reason
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| Put Weezy on and the NO bleedin', yeah
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| You better change like it’s Mardi Gras,
|
| And we pull guns like Quick Draw McGraw
|
| See I’m from New Orleans, Louisiana
|
| And he’s from Compton, baby, bandana
|
| We carry them caskets, we tote them hammers
|
| Su to the Woop, yeah, that’s our grammar
|
| Lemme hear you say Su Woo
|
| Su Woo, Su Woo
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| Can’t stop the red bandana, even if you put me in a cage full of orangurtan’s
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| I’ll show you how bangers bang
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| Four five cocked back, move the crowd like Dana Dane
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| Switch plates, paint the Range
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| Leave so much blood on the wall look like the fucking painters came
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| Dead wrong ain’t it man
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| I told niggas I ain’t a Game
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| All black gold chain, looking like the saint is playin'
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| He sold a milli, I’m vanilli
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| So it ain’t a thing to make it rain in a hundred dollar bills
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| We throwing paper planes
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| Riding through the N.O.
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| Red Marc Jacob frames
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| We disappear like David Blaine
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| And pop up at the Lakers game
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| They playing the seeds with Paul? |
| in the B’s
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| That make the ref affiliated, everytime he hit a three
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| Ken Griffy lost all his fans, taking off his red top
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| Bloods in New York like Manhattan took a head shot
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| I’m one blood, he’s the Carter with the dread locks
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| My whole team run base, we the fucking Red Sox.
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| You better change like it’s Mardi Gras,
|
| And we pull guns like Quick Draw McGraw
|
| See I’m from New Orleans, Louisiana
|
| And he’s from Compton, baby, bandana
|
| We carry them caskets, we tote them hammers
|
| Su to the Woop, yeah, that’s our grammar
|
| Lemme hear you say Su Woo
|
| Su Woo, Su Woo |