| What, what, what, what, what, what, what
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| Huh nigga, huh nigga what, huh nigga what what what what
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| Huh nigga what, what huh nigga what
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| The crime started off, bloody
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| It’s about pistol whippins and kickins
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| Mama dishin' and blitzin' (Mama Mia)
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| Cause you hoes gon' listen
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| Taught to issue the pain
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| And distribute some cocaine
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| Can you fuck man, nah nah
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| I’m known for loosen' brains
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| Bitch you think that I’m playin'
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| Go to war by myself, grab that gat off the shelf
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| Gon' say goodbye to your health
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| Got heroin in the mail but bet my dollars don’t fumble
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| Stackin' tall like Mutombo, cause a bitch moving bundles, rumble
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| It ain’t no thang bitch I’m straight off the tank
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| Niggas second in motion, I’m a fool with that shank
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| No, I ain’t 2 be trusted
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| When I sneak I’m straight bustin' ya mouth
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| And ya nose and your eyes gon' close, swole
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| My kid sister Sherry puttin' big holes, in ya
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| Po-po's trying to find the next nigga ya kin to
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| Red dot center, bullets enter ya playa haters
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| My lace tip split ya fuckin' decision maker |
| Think you can take the biggest mama, bring the drama, go on
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| But make it known, official it’s on
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| I ain’t to be played wit', so fuck around and see what ya get
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| Toasting fingers to clips, playa haters get split
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| I’m running, humping your shit now rock-a-bye you look tired
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| So don’t fight it baby close your eyes
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| I ain’t to be played wit', so fuck around and see what ya get
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| Toasting fingers to clips, playa haters get split
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| I’m running, humping your shit now rock-a-bye you look tired
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| So don’t fight it baby close your eyes
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| When I hoo-ride (Tank Dogs) I only ride T-R-U
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| Niggas out that booty or mister Corey Jalooty
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| Shoot now, fuck the convo nigga ain’t no stoppin'
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| When it’s on we poppin', street sweeper straight knockin'
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| What, what cocaine and trains leavin' niggas in gutters
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| Bringing pain to loved ones, burning up motherfuckers
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| Plus if ya touch one of mine this is how it’s gonna be
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| I’m choppin' down your whole family tree
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| Forget me not, it’s too hot
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| Up in that south, bitch you know how dirty
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| Better act in a hurry or I’ma load it with thirty |
| Dirty, serve me nigga by the pounds and kilos
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| And watch the gumbo pot, we breed the fattest rocks
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| Bag em' after the chop, push em' out the back door
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| Have the prepiest hoes runnin' buku dough
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| Yet the game is cold, raw dog to the bone
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| Gotta love Jones, for whackin' chrome upside niggas domes
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| If it’s on then it’s on ain’t no need to delay it
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| Bout it bout it motherfuckers no I ain’t to be played wit' |