| Uh, uh, uh. |
| Still ain’t ready yet
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| Uh, uh, uh. |
| Niggas still ain’t ready yet
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| Uh, uh, uh
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| I hits the corner on three Daytonaz
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| Wit a bad ass bitch brought up in Gardena, California
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| Uh, she started tuggin, an rubbin on the Swoop
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| I’m wastin my drink swervin in my rag 6-duce
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| Uh, you didn’t know I keep it real from head to toe
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| I hit that savings and loans when I was just a baby loc
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| Went to Mexico, traded it for the pecos
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| Came back to California now it’s time to roll
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| I was 16 mane, sellin quarter keys of dank
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| My uncle was a balla from around the way
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| So I had the hook up
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| Whole keys I cooked up
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| Now all my niggas, makin major figgaz
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| Mobb shit, the type of shit you out committin a lick
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| Pistol whip them nigga to death and have a kick
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| And the twist cuz niggas be havin shit
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| Like bitches on Set It Off, dank
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| Niggas be sniffin dark bank
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| Mission accomplished boss crack
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| Hard or soft livin boys and girls packin yo shit
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| Let it off
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| Niggas who floss out here be takin a loss
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| It cost to be the mutha fuckin Boss Playa
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| Talks to throw away gats in the air
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| For makin yo scratch like that there Boss Playa
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| Niggas beware
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| The ganga-gangsta type of Luni hoolum atmosphere
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| Fo rappin about the clothes you wear, I represent welfare
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| No happy-happy, joy-joy
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| It’s these boys
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| Runnin from decoys, pimpin mo bitches than Dr. Detroit
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| It goes down
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| Mr. Smoke-A-Lot turnin pounds into ashes
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| Black ski maskes
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| Niggas be gettin the pumpkin head like Cashus Clay
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| The Yay
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| Area smoke greenery malacious all day
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| Eh, eh blaze
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| Back in the days, when I was raised
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| Niggas got sprayed wit A’s and K’s
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| I prayed to my Lord that head won’t take
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| Me over, we soldiers to fold ya like Motorola’s
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| And hit the corners
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| I told ya the 4−4 flow will fuck yo face and leave you frozen
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| Bitch you was chosen
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| That’s how it’s goin the Mobb fa sho-ness
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| Mo killaz and shady niggas to keep the click-ulation flawless
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| Fuck all that other
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| Bury yo brother
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| Leave yo family mad at the fact the Mobb took me under
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| Bash 'em other sucka, likely struck wit G’s
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| For tryin to brace
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| Cough drops laced and you’ll be laid out stunned by zae’s
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| Place the cover in a maced
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| ATF lookin for this arsonist, lettin off conscience
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| Hot traces, suicide so you really can’t fuck this
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| Bringin mo heat than Rapper Bernard
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| Lookin, micro woof tickets, bout how much to kick it that nigga hard
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| Oh, from a sucka
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| Fo them niggas that press they luck there
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| In a game fucka
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| Paralyzed caught one in the ass, punk ass
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| Couped up in an send 'em, an jive
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| Make niggas remember the Mobb
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| Them other niggas ain’t no kiddin 'em
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| An it best be a bounce off Mista, Mista
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| Hit ya, get ya, split ya
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| That’s how we shit ya
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| Parafanalia to some Mobb members unpredicable
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| Niggas get dropped, we call the shots, smashed on sumpthin pitifull
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| They see us comin they clear the block, our faces unforgetable
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| The world is a ghetto, and life is a plot
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| I’m surrounded by nimphos
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| Givin up info
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| On where you hide yo doe an indo
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| Guess what you in for
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| You bout to find out
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| That shit we in, we all contenders
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| You don’t know, you seen a nigga jumpin through yo window
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| Don’t even trip
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| I confiscate this money in the name of the Mobb
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| It’s on yo bitch
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| We’ll juss pistol whip this nigga to a coma
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| Jump in the get away ride and hit the corner
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| Yo bitch juss got mopped (the Mobb is gonna)
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| Yo bitch juss got mopped (the Mobb is gonna)
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| Get ready to get yo gats out niggas
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| Fo all you wacked out niggas
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| Bitch made batched out niggas
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| Jaw jacked out niggas
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| I’m not gonna to patch out niggas
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| These niggas don’t really give a funk about yo snitch ass
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| Never in yo life met a gat that blast on the streets at a lame ass
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| Bitch ass nigga
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| No cash gettin-er
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| Hustlin pretendin to be a gangsta
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| Switch hittin ass, nigga too late
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| He wanted his boy to get dumped in wit a 4 chrome that nigga ain’t
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| Dumpin on nothin
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| Must be runnin, and duckin and dodgin in buckets
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| Then shittin up in yo mutha fuckin drawls
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| Coward
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| These bitches I put 'em on the Mobb we gotta get gone
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| Before a nigga cool his gun
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| Real nigga runnin from Mobb
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| Will throw away Glock
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| Won’t pistol go drop |
| Never go Mobb
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| When the 4−4 stop
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| Will a nigga get mopped
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| Fo restin my knot
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| Tell 'em to get yo grill knocked out
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| You fuckin wit niggas that’ll have ya noddin like ya hopped out
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| 3 Time for the O-A-Kiz-a
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| We folks all day
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| Ager, Sneek an the B. A
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| Put him in the trunk wit a bump, an we Mobb throught the Bay
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| Don’t get it twisted we got restrictions
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| Niggas that witnessed family beatins
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| From family meetins
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| No family grievins
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| Juss some youngstas
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| Grew up around dirt an dope, an jelous
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| Evil tactics
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| To shovel up caskets, and double barrell
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| Shotty blasted
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| I’m knowin these suckas can’t catch these bodies flowin
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| Murders so ancient, they faces got federal cases closed
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| And cross the game it ain’t the thang
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| Swoop G plus two G’s will make them niggas for you to hang
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| An try to be cool when Mobbin on them niggas as we reign
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| It’s Money Ova Bitches, broke the skrilla fuck the fame
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| Sight of soldiers shock the world like Rodney’s girl
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| And we ain’t discussin shit
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| We bustin clips
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| To makin 'em hurl
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| Bullets makin them bustas curl
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| An I put that on the Mobb nigga
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| We Mobb niggas
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| Includin everywhere we go
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| That’s how we do it
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| When you see Num, you see Mobb
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| How happly if you need job
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| Even if you be Slobb you need not worry cuz we Mobb
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| Slobb don’t mean Blood
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| An Cuzz don’t mean Crip
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| An Oakland is a term for broke bitches makin grip
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| When we sip
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| We laid out, to drip-drip dry
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| We be slip-slip ride
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| Through the Town doin high-bys
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| When the yak hit my face it’s like a hamburger kill
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| We’ll be real
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| What’s the deal
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| Uh, uh, searchin fo skrill, up here!
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| Wit these tires burnin off like lavishly
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| Makes it easier for me to dig out these hoes like cavities
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| Havin these thang is like a
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| Government task
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| M.O.B. |
| not searchin fo aliens we won’t ask. |