| You know, situation like this
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| Sometimes you know you gotta give back to the community
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| Gotta show these motherfuckers how to wipe them thangs off y’know?
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| Teach 'em a little somethin
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| Pick you up, off your feet like a forklift, but instead it’s the four-fifth
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| Ragu red, your brain leakin them sauces
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| Like an, autopsy leavin 'em nauseous, when I aim at your bosses
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| Put a pep in that bop that you walk with
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| While my tec spittin at reinforcements
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| I could never be a victim of the streets: I endorsed it
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| Spittin that real, y’all cowards just coughed it
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| Like fluids in my lungs, motherfucker I’m more sick
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| You turn them hoes off, I put 'em on so they on this
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| You talk game grammar school, mines metamorphic
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| Dem fools ain’t killin nuttin in the club, they all bent
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| My intent is to sober that ass up, leave 'em all drenched
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| See what a few cups of liquor can offset
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| Got a little paper, I ain’t stressin, they all press
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| Ain’t sellin records, they come at me for more press
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| When they realize it’s real them dudes out coppin more vests
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| Better learn how to
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| Wipe, them guns off, get that money money
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| Wipe, a nigga smile, off ain’t nuttin funny
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| Show, you motherfuckers, just how hungry you
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| Get, when your feet are touchin (kid a nigga hungry / yeah, he one of ours) *
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| P gunna, shots stay a come up
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| Out them hammers at light speed, make it a hot summer
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| In New York, New York — a.k.a. Ground Zero
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| The Big Apple, with the worms in the middle (eww)
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| The White Castle, the Empire State
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| The home of that Time Magazine new face
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| Metropolis of the world, I’ll show you where I come from
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| By how the cash stack, and how I make a gun bust
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| But look past that, and listen how a killer be
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| Imagine the concert, they dancin on they seats
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| Shorty mad gettin stained, she damn near about to faint
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| She never saw a grimy dirty nigga like, P
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| With mad diamonds in his chain, she tryin hard not to blink
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| Don’t wanna miss a thing, the song that we sing
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| Mad diamonds in his chain, she tryin hard not to blink
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| Don’t wanna miss a thing, the song that we sing
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| BANG!
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| My niggas they can’t stop us
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| Everysince we got our hands on the AR’s, the S, and the fresh choppers
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| All of them is filled to the top with the vest poppers
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| We can get it on with America’s Best Coppers
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| Soon as the lead pop you, whoever don’t make it
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| To the funeral or wake can catch you on Ted Koppel
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| I’m a rare thumper, you just a gay nigga
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| With a rainbow sticker on your rear bumper
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| They say life is short, death is longer
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| That makes it even harder to express my hunger
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| And I don’t wanna polly y’all, I’m a zone of my own
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| Sorta like Tom Hanks talkin to that volleyball
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| A «Cast Away,» I’ll blast away
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| Fuck if you broke tomorrow, get cash today
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| And even though it’s hard, niggas is on they job
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| It’s the Ryders and the Mobb, before my niggas starve we’ll |