| Yeah, it goes 1, and here comes the 2 to the Three
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| 6 Mafia, with the R-A-E
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| From N.Y.C. |
| to the Memphis Tenne-ky
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| We ro-tote that ammo, berettas and good green
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| On the club dance floor, we make them bottles start to popping
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| In the club parking lot, we got those Glocks, body rocking
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| With four limos going on, there still ain’t no stopping
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| Hypnotize and Icewater got the speakers straight rocking
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| With a thug on the piano, all of them glizz a bananas
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| Double O tre', like a letter, as with gray tape on bandanas
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| I hit the power like if I was Tony Montana
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| And make a nigga break his head like M.C. |
| Hammer
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| Aiyo, it’s time to take over, we the new age mobstas
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| Love them automatics but I stay with them revolvers
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| Post on the block, keep the goons in the hallway
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| I don’t touch nothing, yo I handle mine the boss way
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| So keep fronting, I’mma show you what the four say
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| Bulldog bark like them dogs up in raw way
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| So act up and keep thinking you hard
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| All you did was get one step closer to God
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| And I want ya’ll niggas to push me, I’mma crack his forehead
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| And watch him spread open like a pussy
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| Whoever got a problem with that, nigga speak out
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| Use the back of the fifth, tear a nigga teeth out
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| Ice dot, who you know better than that?
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| Gunshot put his bladder all over his lap
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| I don’t like you, and you don’t like me
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| So when we bump heads, tell me what it’s gon' be
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| Let’s get it, let’s get it, let’s get it, let’s get it
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| Let’s get it, let’s get it, let’s get it, let’s get it
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| Aiyo Cash let me get 'em (nah, Caskets let me get 'em)
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| Fuck it you can have 'em, I smash whose evers wit 'em
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| My four four mag, toe tag, whoever’s riffin'
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| And my logo, Cash (what, Caskets, is you kidding?)
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| Chill, don’t laugh, cuz Cash, yo, I be tripping
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| Cuz I know they bags, and caskets’ll that’ll fit 'em
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| (Caskets, I’mma split 'em, I’m accurate when I spit 'em
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| That mack clips, send bastards backwards when I hit 'em
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| Them shots come, back to back when I be spitting)
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| It’s a fact, you’ll be reppin' plastic from the Smith &
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| (I make his faggot ass do backflips from a distance
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| If he ever cross Cash and Caskets) You’ll be missing
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| Bust flames at faggots, jump out the window with the ratchets
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| Camouflage vest on, big hatchet
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| Move through the city like Gotti boys, going to court
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| Three G suits, new blue shotty toys
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| Can’t take nothing from us, you’ll die from the get-go
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| Might find your head spreaded in the Pinto
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| Me go hard from paper, bread, yen, Euro
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| Make one call, my criminal bureau
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| Is straight now, everything, I said it, I sent it, whatever
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| Big daddy get yours, we been in it
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| Wu-Tang's foulest, Icewater’s wildest
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| Three 6 Mafi', big papi with the Cialis |