| Yeah yeah
|
| This is a money-motivated song, man, right?
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| If you’re allergic to paper
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| You might not fit in when niggas gon' have do a caper, man
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| Yeah
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| We ain’t allergic to paper, man
|
| So we gon' try to turn you niggas around, man
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| Yamean?
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| Yeah
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| We gon' try to motivate y’all to get your money
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| Cause we money-motivators
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| The way I feel about this here be so detrimental
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| How a PS nigga click with that Double R kennel
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| 530, I’m dirty, hate to say it
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| Represent turf titans and tight with major players
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| With mo' seasoning, suckers be sneakin in the circle
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| Urkel niggas soakin every line, still ain’t with the verbals
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| Get to hoppin' hurdles like Jesse Owens in the fast
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| Return-type tactics so quick shakin' that past
|
| In they entourage bitches be hazy like the samurais
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| Get the mullah, stay savage and suave
|
| Now is that swavage? |
| Well certainly
|
| Still I keep it global
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| Multiple skyscraper paper, unknown totals
|
| Who we? |
| Who that be? |
| Dubee, ask your peoples
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| I leave Sasquatch footprints and keep it off the heezo
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| Cizzo please, it ain’t no need in hawkin' me
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| Please believe, I breathe on greenbacks, yamean?
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| The way I feel about loot
|
| Ooh, it ain’t no doubt about it
|
| I’m a thug
|
| Say how you do, sir?
|
| Well, everything is everything, how 'bout you, brah?
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| Man, I’m tryin to get my paws on some loot, sir
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| If it ain’t scratch it ain’t shit, how 'bout you, sir?
|
| Yeah that’s the truth, brah
|
| Say I’m a natural, call me 7−11
|
| Playboy, it’s factual, I stay high as the heaven
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| I’m like the castle
|
| On the chess boards slide front to backwards
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| Up and down, side to side, boy, we at this
|
| Me, Dre and Dubee savages in the masses
|
| They call my type of people roguish-ass bastards
|
| I pull a babe in and tell her flip the matress
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| And get the cash quick
|
| Now player listen, this ain’t no test of your broadcast system
|
| Them niggas PSD and them be comin' with 'em
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| It ain’t no puzzle how I feel about my scrillas
|
| Gotta feed my chil’ens
|
| At the building, chilling, living anxious
|
| Waitin' for this bitch to deliver some funyuns
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| The same routine every day
|
| Get dipped then I split in the Chevrolet
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| The four 15's shake the mirror
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| When the EB’s quake couldn’t sound no clearer
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| Feelin' so cool in my old school
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| Ain’t trippin' off a bitch, I need some mo' loot
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| Oh, you ain’t know you better check my file
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| I get stupid doo-doo dumb, don’t sweat the style
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| Me and my niggas represent the real
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| Don’t think we kill? |
| Bet a 100 dollar bill
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| I’ma leave a body, no leads or clues
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| Cutthroat Committee, bitch, we some fools
|
| Killas for the scrilla, sucker, can’t you tell?
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| The real motherfuckers representin' Vallejo |