| Up in the club, they shaking ass
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| Beef in the spot, we put it at blast
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| Blunts, rolled, I pull out the stash
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| This is the way we gangsta smash
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| Lean, yo. |
| Weed, blow
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| Switches we bouncing it low-low
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| Compton hip, we fucking dope
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| W shown out the window
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| Enemies know what they in fo'
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| Cops try to gather that info-
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| -mation. |
| Frustration
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| Who in the fuck left these shell cases?
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| Drive-by, hood rich
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| Real gangstas won’t talk and don’t snitch
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| Gang-banging niggas who won’t switch
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| Live by the model and trust no bitch
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| Get your papers
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| Beaten so they can’st evade us
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| On it we know it’s the fucking best
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| To d-day we die so fuck the rest
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| If you got beef get that shit off your chest
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| Open your brain in your bulletproof vest
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| Compton, the city, we standing tall
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| Gang raw phone call
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| Hood rats, gang tats
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| Dope trying to stash under car mats
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| Police asking where the guns at?
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| Jack and boy you better lay flat
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| One stab, jump in and pop
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| Breath in real hard as you duck from the cops
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| Fleeing the scene or the evidence drops?
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| Keep making moves, avoiding the stops
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| Tired from all the fences you hop?
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| Get away clean and you setting up shop
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| Either stay or transform
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| Slip and homeboy you be heading to court
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| Telling your niggas to hold down the fort
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| Send them some flicks and a little support
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| Stressed out, stretched out
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| You know what county jail life’s all about
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| Gang man, strap in hand
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| Money is made on the corners we stand
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| Money is wrapped with the rubber band
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| Shoot them up when enemies roll in
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| Gun spark, car crash
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| Mission complete, so collect the cash
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| No need to floss, so build up your stash
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| Hiding my face, the cameras flash
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| Top notch, grab your crotch
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| Now the block trying to form neighborhood watch
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| They gonna keep hating the way that I am
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| Keep shooting and hoping my guns don’t jam
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| Who dipping again? |
| We don’t give a fuck
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| It’s like in the hood, homeboy, we stuck
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| Until the day we come up
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| Keep to drinking my cup |