| This how we gon' do this…
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| Hook up the turntables,
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| Wolfe, get on the keyboard…
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| And we gon' run it, ya heard…
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| Cash Money.
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| Cash Money.
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| Cash Money.
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| Cash Money.
|
| Now let me slide in the Benz with the fished out fins,
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| Hit the mall with my girlfriends, dish out ends.
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| Cause you know it ain’t trickin' if you got it,
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| Cop baby girl what she desire, it’s chump change mama.
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| Marijuana Scholar… Knowin' what I got up in my styrofoam cup?
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| That purple stuff. |
| It was givin' to me at birth to stunt.
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| So that’s why I cop the Bentley with the leather and the fur in the guts.
|
| (Ay, Ay, Ay.)
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| Hold on, mami! |
| Them whips on dubs.
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| Cadillac truck, twenty-eights, no rubs.
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| Slide in the Benz, fins, bubble-eye lens,
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| Car show in New York, Ya’ll know who wins!
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| It’s the birdman, daddy, with the Gucci and Prada,
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| Slant-back, cut truck. |
| No rims? |
| Can’t holla.
|
| It’s that Louie/Fendi on Ostrich streets,
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| It’s the tailer-made daddy, Mami, do you love me?
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| Baby, I’ma a stunna. |
| (Oh! Oh! Oh!)
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| I ain’t gon' change it. |
| (I told ya’ll…)
|
| Don’t — you — know,
|
| It’s a way of liffeee… (I told ya’ll…)
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| Mama, do you want it?
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| Cause I’m about to break it, (I told ya’ll…)
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| Oooh, baby. |
| Can’t stop the stuntin',
|
| Nooo, nooo… (Bring back that beat…)
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| Pop one, pop two. |
| Them new Nike shoes,
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| Royal blue Jag on them twenty-two's.
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| Flip white to green, 500 Degreez,
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| In that Cadillac truck on them twenty-three's.
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| I’m the boss of the game with the money and fame,
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| All these naked women that pop ch&agne.
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| And these marble floors stay high as Rick James,
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| If you know my name, then you know my game.
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| It’s lil' whodi from the hot block with ser’ous flow,
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| Gotta get dough, cause ya’ll won’t feel me, bro.
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| But ya’ll don’t here me tho…
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| Till I’m rollin' down my window and my grill-ie show.
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| And you know I’m prolly pumpin' through the hood on the twenty-fo's,
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| Word! |
| Rims pokin' out the side of the 'ERV,
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| Glock have ya ribs pokin' out the side of ya shirt.
|
| I’m a seventeenth nigga and I ride for the turf. |
| Whoo!
|
| Baby, I’ma a stunna. |
| (I told ya’ll…)
|
| I ain’t gon' change it.
|
| Don’t — you — know,
|
| It’s a way of liffeee… (I told ya’ll…)
|
| Mama, do you want it?
|
| Cause I’m about to break it,
|
| Oooh, baby. |
| Can’t stop the stuntin',
|
| Nooo, nooo…
|
| Ay…
|
| And my pinky glow… Cause my ring is so…
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| Blingy-blingy, yo… Stop blinkin' though…
|
| We smoke — stinky, stinky dro,
|
| And we don’t cop them ency-wency O’s,
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| And we don’t stop. |
| Nah! |
| We blow, fuck the peo-ple!
|
| Everywhere we go, we smell like E-yo.
|
| The birdman my paw, so that make me go…
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| «Fllyy like an eagle!"Fo' sheezo!
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| They think cause I stay at English Turn,
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| That Stunna don’t have a O — Z to burn, (Light it up!)
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| I go in each sto' and ball like a dog,
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| Me and my nig’s, we ball like a dog.
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| Cars on the streets, all on our lawn.
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| Ice in my teeths, all on my arm.
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| Tat’s in my face, my back, and my arm. |
| (What?)
|
| Tat’s in MY face, my back, and my arm.
|
| Baby, I’ma a stunna.
|
| I ain’t gon' change it.
|
| Don’t — you — know,
|
| It’s a way of liffeee…
|
| Mama, do you want it?
|
| Cause I’m about to break it,
|
| Oooh, baby. |
| Can’t stop the stuntin',
|
| Nooo, nooo…
|
| Yep… There it is!.. ya' lil' low-life…
|
| See, I’m a pro — fessional. |
| You a rookie.
|
| Fuckin' game so serious…
|
| I could sell a hooker some pussy…
|
| Now, that’s some serious shit…
|
| Oh, yea! |
| Bel’ieve that!
|
| Who we rollin' wit?
|
| We rollin' wit Cash Money!
|
| Oh, I forgot about «peace»!
|
| PEEACE! |
| I mean… «Piece"of pussy,
|
| «Piece"of land, «Piece"of property…
|
| It’s just a mind game… |