| What set you from?
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| You look like one of them Crenshaw Mafia motherfuckers
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| No, you prolly one of them Rollin 60's, huh
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| (Dubba-AA flex)
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| Huh, huh
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| I’m this bitch with Dubba A
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| Nigga, we be steady flexin', yeah
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| Don’t know me
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| Oh, no, no
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| Stick with the dick that’s steady ringin'
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| Oh so often murder went through my mind
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| Turned around the corner, took all of the tab, pussy boy you gon' die
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| I’m quick to send him for the spin with .45s
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| Any time they asked 'bout my lil' soldiers this what I’m gon' reply (This is
|
| the sound)
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| That lil' nigga throwin' six-o, he been slanging iron
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| We ain’t 'bout no code though, just stop on the opps
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| We could jump out the car, them bullets flyin'
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| Lil' Pooda quick to pull up, kick door, had to rock out wit' his nine
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| Timmy rocked out on a opp, if you worried 'bout a Glock, hit in his spine
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| He made a diss 'bout my big brother
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| He made a diss like «Damn, who died?»
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| Been down the block was me and Leaky screaming Crip life 'til we die
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| They told lil' nigga leave him lone, but I can’t let the shit slide
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| Seein' his brains all on the cement gon' leave his mama traumatized
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| They gon' call the homicide
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| On a whole another level that I ain’t supposed to
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| How the fuck we beefing and the whole city know we got smoke?
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| Timmy say don’t talk on them phones
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| I’ma put three holes on yo' dome
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| Timmy run down the street wit' a Glock in his hand
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| Like lil' kid this is what I’m on
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| I was up in New York at the top of the bands
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| I was out, zipped up wit' that chrome
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| Swing the stick on they block, then watch them dance
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| I’m steady tryna rip up the corner
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| Because they shot at yo' lil' brother
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| After that he went and posted a photo
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| And you don’t get no straight about it
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| Nigga told me you called his phone
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| Big 33 that Timmy covered, let’s go post up by the store
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| I call up Zack off 37 like meet me at Julio’s
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| Late nights you know we let it fly right back to back you hit a pole
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| My stick was talkin' on the 'Gram, you let off shots then make a post
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| Stick with the dick that’s steady ringin'
|
| Oh so often murder went through my mind
|
| Turned around the corner, took all of the tab, pussy boy you gon' die
|
| I’m quick to send him for the spin with .45s
|
| Any time they asked 'bout my lil' soldiers this what I’m gon' reply (This is
|
| the sound)
|
| That lil' nigga throwin' six-o, he been slanging iron
|
| We ain’t 'bout no code though, just stop on the opps
|
| We could jump out the car, them bullets flyin'
|
| Lil' Pooda quick to pull up, kick door, had to rock out wit' his nine
|
| Timmy rocked out on a opp, if you worried 'bout a Glock, hit in his spine
|
| He made a diss 'bout my big brother
|
| He made a diss like «Damn, who died?»
|
| Been down the block was me and Leaky screaming Crip life 'til we die
|
| They told lil' nigga leave him lone, but I can’t let the shit slide
|
| Seein' his brains all on the cement gon' leave his mama traumatized
|
| If you love me or you love me not, I’ma be me
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| He known for gangsta shit, and even bangs in the streets
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| (This is the sound) Woah
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| Pussy ass nigga, hahaha
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| Tell that nigga, spin
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| I’m tryna send a pussy boy to talk to God about her
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| Haha, nigga I’m a savage
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| Broke ass nigga |