| Yeah yeah
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| Woke up one morning to see my niggas from high school
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| Checc it out
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| Babe Reg… Mr. Doctor… Foe Loco
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| (Babe Reg)
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| Woke up one morning out some bomb ass cocc
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| My dick kinda limp so I cruise around the blocc
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| Call my cousin Doc as I swoop in the drop
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| Stop by my homie Foe house to puff on the ounce
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| Seen my little homie Twamp who I ain’t seen in a while
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| Nigga gone been floatin on clout nine
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| Headed to the Liquor sto', got some mixed gin and juice
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| Got a quarter pound of kills so I’m fucced up for real
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| Seven, eight, nine ten eleven twelve
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| Bailed bacc in the crib (For what?) Because I’m all-in
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| Conversated then I dug the hoe out
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| I fixed me some food, then go the hell out
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| Two A.M. |
| on the diz-ot, I pause and I stiz-op
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| I reminisce on that ass that I riz-occed
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| And now I’m high as a kite
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| Yeahh, and I’m feelin alright
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| Four A.M. |
| as I stoll bacc to my crib
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| To see what’s with my woman and my newborn kid
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| (Mr. Doctor)
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| With my mind on my money and my money on my mind
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| We do this everyday about the same time, be-otch!
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| (Foe Loco)
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| Up at Rosemont Park one day, that’s when I saw her face
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| She looked kind of cavi to me
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| And when I take her home, and tap that ass I’m gone
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| I’m just a hog don’t blame me
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| (Mr. Doctor)
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| Yeah, yeah… yeah, yeah
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| Now do I love them hoes? |
| (Reg: Nigga hell naw)
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| And why is that? |
| (Reg: Because we some gangsta’s Doc)
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| (Reg: And we don’t never give a fucc about a bitch
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| To Odysea… bitches ain’t shit but hoes and triccs)
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| Ha hah, dee dee dadi dadi dah
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| Listen to the sounds from my nigga Mr. Doc
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| While I slide through the city in the rag six-tre'
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| Hoppin like a mutha fucca tryin to find some play
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| Hittin all the spots but I’m comin up blank
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| I’m headed to the liquor store to get myself some drank
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| Parks my ride as I, steps inside, as I
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| Slips my Colt 45 by my side, as I
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| Continue with my mission
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| Pussy is my dish and I’m dishin, dishin
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| Upon a star, to come up on some ends for my caviar
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| And a little bit of pussy
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| So I can get my pimp on
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| Cause my pig gets my pimp on from G to Odysea, nigga
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| (Babe Reg)
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| I put my pen, on cold Ohio nights
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| And the bitch didn’t freezed up when I wanted her to write
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| Put my pen in the hot California sun
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| And the bitch didn’t swear nor run
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| What’s up girl, you know you look good
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| But you got to pay me cuz you ain’t from my hood
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| I need skrills, gotta pay the bills
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| And you lookin kind of over the hills
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| Make my money… bring it home
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| Cuz I don’t wanna have to knocc you in your dome
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| Bitch… where my money at
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| Don’t start to runnin batch
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| I might have to slap you
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| Don’t want to have to slap you
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| Don’t want to have to bacc you
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| Up of the N
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| Up off the North, up off the South
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| Up off the East and West
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| Bitch… them breasts is my tits
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| I run you, I want all of it
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| I’m the balla bitch
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| Bring all skrills cuz you know |