| «Yo Pap, yo son
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| What you doing out here this late, son?»
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| «Hey, nothing I came to the twenty-four-hour store and all that
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| Out here, fucking playing dice with these niggas, man»
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| «Hey you know my style, man
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| I’m just making it rain in the golden lady
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| I’m about to take it in, man»
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| «Yeah, me too, man»
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| «Yeah, it’s like four in the morning, man
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| Take it in, dog»
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| «It's four o’clock? |
| Yeah I’ll go get some rest»
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| Hey-yo, I left the corner four in the morning
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| Henny’d up, hit the crib, tumbled down the stairs
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| Pick me up
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| Overheard my own people planning to hit me up
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| And they ain’t even know I was listening, silly fucks
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| «Papoose be stunting; |
| yo, son, tear his kidneys up
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| And clap him on the top of his head, that’s if he ducks»
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| I dug in my pockets so I could load the milli up
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| And all I felt was Phillies blunts, I’m pissy drunk
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| Body me, how can it be? |
| We blood brothers
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| We hid behind the same cars when slugs hovering
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| We talked about the future and rising above hunger
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| But now you’ve got envisions of making this thug suffer
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| Thinking--what could’ve made him flip?
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| Is he a Blood, and he think I’m Crip?
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| Is he in love and I hit his chick?
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| No time to think; |
| creep like a night burglar
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| ‘Cause for my life I’ll incite murder, vice versa
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| I bust through the door ready to let my iron boom
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| I’mma turn this livin' room to the dyin' room
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| Turn the bathroom to the blastroom
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| Bedroom to the deadroom
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| Plain left 'em red, dead, doom
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| (Cell phone rings)
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| «Hey-yo, Pap, remember that kid you had beef with back in '94?»
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| «What about him?»
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| «Yeah, well, that coward nigga home now
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| And he talking reckless, nigga»
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| «Word?»
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| «Meet me in town so I can kick it with you»
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| «No doubt»
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| «You know how it’s gonna go down»
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| Word in the ghetto, this kid I had drama with before
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| Insane tone, just came home, he want a war
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| That black on black crime is swine, truthfully
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| But if my brother try to do me, I have to empty five in his hoopty
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| Who plotting to shoot me? |
| Gotta be loony trying to go against my
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| Block with a toolie, that’s like a ox to a Uzi
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| Found out where one of them live, so we hopped in the hoopty
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| Hit his crib, caught him in the bathroom, watching a movie
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| I asked a few questions; |
| he tried to fool me
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| So I electrocuted him, I kicked the TV inside the Jacuzzi
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| Some naked cutie ran in the room screaming «Don't shoot me!»
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| My bullets hit her dead in the cootie, came out her booty
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| I grab this chick named Rudi, put her to a doobie
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| And made her tell me where the rest of the crew be
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| Soon as we hit the other spot:
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| «Yo, park the car on the other block
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| Keep it running, cause if they see us coming, I’m dumming out»
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| «Shut the fuck up, I’m running the shots
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| In fact, Black, you’ll take the Mac back and Clack, pass back
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| The other Glock;» |
| hopped out of the car, gats cocked, ready to rock
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| Pull right up on the side of us, an off-duty cop
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| I told him: «Let's make a deal, split it partially
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| You don’t disrespect my rivalry, I won’t disconnect your arteries»
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| He poofed off and didn’t bother me, sort of heartened me
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| My niggas by the car with me, screwing 'round with authority
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| Bum rushed our way in the door, wage of a war
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| Waving a four, «Y'all know what this is, stay on the floor!»
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| (Everybody lay down!)
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| I pick one of them up and put his face to the wall
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| Told him: «I want the guns, drugs, jewels papers and all,» but he stall
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| He tried to lie and say some chick had it
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| Soon as he said his word is born, I gave him a miscarriage
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| Put the money in the big bag, and
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| I saw two of the dreads on the floor, chit-chatting and slick acting
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| I told them: «I'll pint if you flitch, faggot»
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| When Strong grabbed the big ratchet from Flip’s jacket and shit shattered
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| We walked out of the building, holding cases of loot
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| When we made it off the stoop, niggas was blazing off the roof
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| My man tumbled down the basement steps
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| Grabbed him by his shoulder, turned him over, looked in the face of death
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| He was shaking, stressed, trembling, sighing, and shit
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| I took the money out his pocket, no sense in dying with this
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| Cock the hammer on my iron and spit, heard everybody crying, «I'm hit!
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| «(Your son hit, son)
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| My whole life relied on my clip
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| Ran out of bullets, niggas pullin' up behind me in whips
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| Bat me down, looked around, all my crimies was hit
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| To all the thugs still breathing, take a deep breath
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| He who live a street life shall die a street death |