| It’s death before dishonor, strap the vest down tight when you bring the drama
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| Now raise up off mine, and taste it in the raw
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| Before snipers on the floor galore, in my hardware store
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| Nightmares of thirsty crooks, niggas all acting fishy working off the books
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| Painting pictures of poverty, causing armed robbery
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| And if provoked, every last one gets smoked
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| No doubt for real it’s like wildlife
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| Where thugs forever pull caps and always keep a knife
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| Cause on the strip, warfare’s inevitable, hot steel’s incredible
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| And if surprised, the revolution won’t be televised
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| When I supply and demand, as I build my currency to expand, Call it progress
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| when I bless my territory all respect due
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| But can niggas keep it real? |
| It’s on you
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| On you («Smile in my face, behind my back they talk trash»)
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| On you («Mad and stuff because they don’t have cash»)
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| On you («When I roll and stroll, cool always pack a tool»)
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| On you («Just in case… a brother acts a fool»)
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| Step into the dragon’s lair, where CL’s the don and Pete’s the creator
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| Now praise the most high and represent the best
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| Cause the number one killer of black men is stress
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| The armed and dangerous, the bulletproof
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| Couldn’t stop the homicide of another youth
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| Penetrating your body parts with hollow point shells, you fraud
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| Cause vengeance is mine said the Lord, indeed
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| My own click now turns greedy
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| Out of twelve of my soldiers, one will deceive me
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| With salt in the game, shame the family and push
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| My black ass straight into a terrifying ambush
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| The whole empire’s at stake
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| Mastering the streets, devil the mental won’t break and turn snake
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| For Pete’s sake you gotta be true to the crew
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| So if niggas want to set it, it’s on you
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| On you («Smile in my face, behind my back they talk trash»)
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| On you («Mad and stuff because they don’t have cash»)
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| On you («When I roll and stroll, cool always pack a tool»)
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| On you («Just in case… a brother acts a fool»)
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| Capture the beast within me, beware when it’s moving deep in New York City
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| The diabolical gangster chronicle mob scenes in all directions
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| The type of connections to get your wig split
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| Submit the wanted signs posted, chickens spots for major knots you get toasted
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| To the head piece, I release firepower, only I’m controlling
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| We put in work and got the right brothers rolling
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| When hell kicks off we lick off
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| Keeping mine hard like stone from the red zone, to each his own
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| Smile in my face behind my back you talk trash
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| Hope my pockets hit empty and my Lexus crashed
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| But not in your wildest dreams
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| Hear my name in all the scandals and all the schemes, I rest in Queens
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| The Vernonville’s my capital, so memorize the cuts
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| Then give you two more seconds to get off these nuts, it’s on you
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| On you («Smile in my face, behind my back they talk trash»)
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| On you («Mad and stuff because they don’t have cash»)
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| On you («When I roll and stroll, cool always pack a tool»)
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| On you («Just in case… a brother acts a fool»)
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| Check it, Grap Luva, if you’re in the house
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| Just get on the mic and show 'em what it’s all about
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| It’s all about the wicked check one two
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| Cause I rips a microphone and pass it to my crew
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| I don’t drink no brew, I smoke nuff spliffs, I don’t have no riffs
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| So check me as I shoot the gift
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| Rip rhymes, freestyle rhymes
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| Off top of the dome every time
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| I’m glad this shit is going on tape
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| So I can escape into the beat and make nuff papes
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| Word to God, kicking nuff freestyle rhymes… |