| (Stop the car…
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| Brooklyn
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| Do somethin to make me feel better
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| — I'mma do somethin to make you feel great)
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| It’s like
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| Bon Appetit y’all
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| Commonly known as O.C. |
| to some of y’all
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| My peoples call me Mush or Mush
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| Say it with different twang, it means the same, nigga
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| The love of her life to your wife is Von Zipper
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| Shoot darts like cupid, leave em stuck on stupid
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| How I manoeuvre, leavin em sayin oohs and aahs
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| Your dream boat-type of man, I’m a god
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| A straight sin to a love-struck sucker involved
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| My niggas gimme pound, envious niggas they just nod
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| (I see everything) to observe is not the word
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| My style is reserved, a-ddress me as Sir Fly
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| Gone is the humble kid, I’m gunnin for number one and shit
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| Brooklyn born and bred, reppin my residence
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| I can’t live with that, I’m reppin NY
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| The rotten apple is a place where the strong reside
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| Some of the illest have died, puttin them feelings aside
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| But on the live, yo, never seen my cousin Chuck
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| Words like cum like a bird suckin me off
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| She tellin me let her know at the moment I blow
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| I got sin in my veins, hope I don’t burn up in flames
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| They say tigers nevfer change they stripes, whoever said it was right
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| And I say love is life with larceny
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| Chicken pieces wanna grease up with the darker me
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| Or maybe possibly rotatin constantly
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| You mufuckas don’t want no type of parts of me
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| It’s Mush
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| I lay me down to sleep
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| And I pray to the Lord my soul to keep
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| Rubbin on my rosary beeds
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| That if there shouldn’t be a dawn
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| That I rise and yawn
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| Then so be it
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| This is to my niggas, if I should die
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| Just make sure my wake gimme a 21 gun salute
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| Cock, aim and shoot
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| (*gunshots*)
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| Yo, echoin shots in your hallways
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| This is for gangsta niggas fittin the MO
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| I’m reckon that my medicine will leave you stimmo
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| Just feel low, step in my world, there’s nothin to fear
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| Who claimin they live, this is live right here
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| Walkin with a slew foot and a bop
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| Speak sideways when I talk
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| Even when I’m not high my eyes are small
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| Not very short, yet I’m not so tall
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| But I got a big heart, big hands and some big-ass balls
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| I spray walls like a dog, markin territories off
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| Everytime I touch down in a city of yours
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| I mix and mingle with my boys, shootin winks at the broads
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| Shootin drinks to the players, keepin in peace is all
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| With the fine rides with Wildlife niggas inside
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| Ahmed,, Show, Bless, Flow, 'Nesse, Dre, Buck and PA
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| My nigga, the women catch a glimpse
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| As they focus they vision on these players and pimps
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| Who keep it gully? |
| (That nigga Mush)
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| Who play it cool like Arthur Fonzarelli
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| Dippin through my hood with no kind of worries
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| On the block drinkin malt liquors and hard liquor
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| Puffin a spliff while the cars ride by pumpin Jigga
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| I’m from B-r-(double o)-k-l-y-n
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| And if I wasn’t, nigga, then why would I say I am?
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| I’m from the (slums) with the (bums) and the (rats) and the (guns)
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| Where the drugs get slung, dispose condoms with cum — one |