| Don’t take it per-son-al. |
| it’s only mu-sic
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| Holla at me. |
| yo! |
| Yo!
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| Ice Water! |
| Yo. |
| yo
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| Try me, P.C.'ll put a clip in a nigga
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| Fuck a hole, my bullets’ll dig a ditch in a nigga
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| Listen, I’ve been reppin', only pack big weapons
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| One shot to the stomach, you missin' ya midsection
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| I’m off the wall, dog, I could off ya balls
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| Stick his ass to the rooftop, toss 'em off
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| Hit the Ave with the rooftop off the porch
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| I get money cuz it costs to floss, nigga you feelin' me?
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| And if not then fuck what you gotta deal with me
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| I’ve only been here for a minute but haters wanna get rid of me
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| P.C. |
| creep with at least three heats
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| And a shotgun stashed underneath the backseats
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| Niggas actin' like you don’t feel a draft
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| You seen ya man? |
| Tell him I’ma kill his ass
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| And I don’t, wanna talk I want a mill in cash
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| I come through 'tards shittin', lookin' ill in the past
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| Cuz it’s the, Ice Water, don’t get it confused
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| And one false move’ll cause me to spit at you dudes
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| It’s Stumic, motherfucker and I’m pickin' ya food
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| And ain’t no one out you know that my niggas’ll do you
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| Let’s spit on 'em, rush these niggas
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| And crush several fuckin', will leave a dent out ya liver
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| Only kid in the hood with a mustard ninja
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| Heard you broke down good, well I fucked ya sister
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| Eh yo we Wyld in Da Club, style in the club
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| This is for my niggas gettin' down in the club
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| At the bar throwin' down rounds in the club
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| Talk slick and get the four pound in ya mug
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| Yo I keep my gun on me, what the fuck y’all want from me?
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| Y’all touch my property somebody gon' die, uh-huh
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| This ain’t no joke, it’s for real
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| My niggas they totin' they steel
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| All it takes a phone call and they ready to ride
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| Get ready to die
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| Eh yo the cards are dealt, the words are spoken
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| Nigga, welcome to the Hell, the gates is open (uh-huh)
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| Gatekeeper, first degree murder through the speaker
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| Who deep enough to flow with the reaper?
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| Stuck in the middle, I spit a little riddle
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| Leavin' niggas crippled, my niggas ball 'em like Kerry Kittles
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| You niggas makin' it hard, it’s really kinda simple
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| If a nigga gotta pull it out I’m puttin' it in ya temple
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| Official I do this, rude maneuver
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| I use the Rugers to keep the bullets movin' through ya
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| Weak anatomy, fuck the small talk and flattery
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| Ya power is weak, to beef you need much more batteries
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| Keep it genetic, or dead it, Ice Water Inc. we said it
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| Whoever so-called did it or said it, promote it and spread it
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| Fake it or front it, get ambushed and confronted
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| With slugs in ya head, back, chest and stomach
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| Niggas don’t want it or ask for it, so we give it to 'em
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| Dead in the club and let them things spit and rip through 'em dead in the club
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| Is you gon' fuck around and be the nigga dead in the club?
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| (Yeah? Uh-huh.)
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| Egyptian look, gazelles on, L’s lit, this how it’s goin' down
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| Ski mask, Chanel shit, move like a terrorist click
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| Nineteen eighties babies, worldwide, ya girl on our dick
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| All you know is Rae look good, he hood
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| Envision the flips, I make money like them niggas who take money
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| Fresh out the can, Duran look, Astro van
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| The ill Castro, rap Son of Sam
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| More Rugers, more bow and arrows
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| Still no losers, forty five dollars ahead
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| Go at niggas shootin' lyrical leads
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| Stop absorbin, break shit, knock that gay shit out ya head |