| Fat niggas puttin shit up in the game
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| Livin off the fame of the Garden Blocc name
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| But never did dirt or put in no work
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| They be rappin like they g’s
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| Talkin bout maccin bitches and slangin ki’s
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| But please you a ho
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| No need to play the role like you ain’t kowin that
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| Go look in the mirror, you won’t see no gangsta starin bacc
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| Based on that fact I’m let it be known
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| Gotta tell the homies what really goes on nigga
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| (You mutha fuccas)
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| You don’t even know how to load a nine
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| You seen your homie do some dirt and went and wrote a rhyme
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| But how you talkin bout bein a killa and never made a niggas brain hang
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| You sayin you a loc but never gang banged
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| Nigga you ought to win an Oscar
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| «The Best Actor of the Year» you ain’t no mutha fuccin mobsta
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| You faker than Cubic Zarconia
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| Givin a bad reputation to niggas in Killafornia
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| We puttin bustas in hearses
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| Why you marks be bombin on base heads and snatchin bitches purses
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| That punk shit, but nigga you think you so a hard
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| That’s why thay X-Raided loc be pullin ho calls |
| (X-Raided)
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| You a gang bangin nigga
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| Hustla, mutha fuccin psycho, loco, but only in the studio
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| Rappin like you real
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| Talkin bout how you kill niggas
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| Let the truth be told, it’s only in the studio
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| Gang bangin nigga
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| Hustla, mutha fuccin psycho, loco, only in the studio
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| Rappin like you real
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| Talkin bout how you kill niggas
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| Let the truth be told, only in the studio
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| (T-Macc)
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| I grab cash plus guns
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| Roll with old you gets done for the buns
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| And we four for the door
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| It’s time for roll
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| And you done crossed the wrong line
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| And I couldn’t forgive myself
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| For tellin your ass one more time
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| Now grab your ski and be on the grind
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| On a paper chase
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| Lace up your boots
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| And shoot for the skrill from the gate
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| And you betta make hate
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| Cuz it ain’t no time or minor race
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| I ride with realas and killas from day one and stay no face
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| Murder ones, protect identities
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| And murder twos, to kill off all these studio g’s
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| Everybody claimin to be a gangsta in the boot
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| When it’s time to ride they ducc and hide these niggas scared to shoot |
| Ain’t never seen you on the streets
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| And you don’t want to fucc with us cuz we real mutha fuccin P-C's
|
| Blacc Market soldiers takin over, still slangin yola
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| We realas up in this shit nigga somebody should of told ya
|
| (Mr. Doctor)
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| Yeah nigga…
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| Yeah Doc…
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| What, what, you neva had me though
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| Creased blue kakies with blue laces in them blue kiccs
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| You never strolled the blocc with them true crips
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| Niggas like you round the locs is through
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| Bitch nigga swallow a dicc, that’s why you getting ran through
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| Straight trippin you could claim my blocc
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| You never hanged with the crips and never rang no Gloccs
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| Mo like a succa, but figure now a nigga would know
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| When you slip around and through settrip, it’s like walkin death row
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| Now you see but you seen to late
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| Mutha fucca, you slit like a clit cuz your ass is fake
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| (You don’t wanna slang, you don’t wanna gang bang)
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| You can’t crip walk then don’t let your gat talk
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| (You don’t wanna slang, you don’t wanna gang bang)
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| I never seen you on the spot
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| Never seen you with a Glocc |
| That’s how real gangstas roll
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| Dippin old schools and rags
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| Holiday and X-Raided loc
|
| (Chorus to end) |