| The Bay Area, the yay-yay
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| That’s right, fo' flavors
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| Rappin' 4 Tay
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| It’s for them suckers, whodi
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| You baller blockin'
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| Mad cause the foes poppin'
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| Six foes hoppin', got the whole world poppin', collaz!
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| Milluem Dots, mo' ice than eskimo
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| Motherfucking money strong, y’all got the game wrong
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| Four scale pimpin' whodi, wrist glistenin'
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| I know you whisperin', but SUCKA I ain’t listenin'
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| Heard she pick the Wheezy up
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| Cause she back that ass up
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| Got a pocket of hand-cuffs and wrote the pony so tough
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| Tell me why you’re mad at me
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| I know you thinkin' breezy, creepin' to the heezy
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| On the unn in the beezy
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| The bay, for those that don’t know
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| It’s so equsit, come and pay a visit
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| Please believe it, don’t miss it
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| Exhibits, double 0 G’s like fo' cheesy
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| Forty fines for relly in the home with mack sheezy
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| But leave your women and your troubles behind you
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| We mackin' for a livin', it’s only a right that I remind you
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| From beanies to Bossolini’s we used to struggle
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| Surpise rapper forty eyes all my dogs bubble
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| Somebody’s gotta win, but now, somebody’s losin'
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| Strikeless hitch-hikin' while these ballers out and crusin'
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| He rose a bucket, he rose a Beamer acrunk, shoo! |
| (shoo)
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| Somebody’s gotta win, somebody’s gotta lose
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| Somebody’s gotta win, but now, somebody’s losin
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| Strikeless hitch-hikin' while these ballers out and crusin'
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| He rose a bucket, he rose a Beamer acrunk, shoo! |
| (shoo)
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| Somebody’s gotta win, somebody’s gotta lose…
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| Everybody claimed they got it locked like prison bars
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| From the North, to the South, to the East, to the West
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| All us playas livin large
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| Workin' on your opponent, workin' on it too much, you dreamin'
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| This shit you see on these videos ain’t always what it seems
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| Life is based on game, and game is based on witch dot
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| Trippin' off what the next man got
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| And get your grip
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| Remember, love don’t love nobody but we love the way it feels
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| And let it be a good damn thing, if love can pay the bills
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| Got you in my zone now, shoot them crooks now
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| Now I’m booked out on my own now, it’s goin' down, platinum bound
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| Here we go again two nappy heads in they plot (plot)
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| Dog, you be surpised with all these capers I be spottin'
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| Thats why murder rates increase, it should be peace
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| But now, who am I to speak when all I did my youth was creep? |
| (creep)
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| Duckin' it dodge to my so-called homeys, they phoney
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| Tryna get me, tryna hit me
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| I’m takin' that sucka with me before he split me
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| If you came where I come from, YOU KNOW WHERE I’M COMIN' FROM
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| Takin' so many chances, livin' life on the run
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| No fun, espcially for a playa situation, get critical
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| Murder one and that’s pitiful but yet it’s soblentioul
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| Way beyond your knocks fool, peep fool, check the ???
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| Death ain’t got no date and no time, dont never go away
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| But playa-haters gon' hate on how much money you make
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| Because, money makes the world go round
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| Livin' life like ???, this is cabbage
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| With hundred stick situation, so savage
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| So tragic, need a hot meal in my baby’s belly
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| Remenise no hard times in my pen in my selly
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| I ain’t tryna go back, cause backwards ain’t part of my PJ
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| I need that might dollar to survive in these ghetto streets
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| Them devils want me isolated, like chicken drawers
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| I’m tryna get mine (mine)
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| I hope you get yours (yours)
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| I hope you get yours, get it, get it
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| Yeah, nigga, stop baller blockin'
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| And keep them collas poppin!
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| Please believe it, oh boy!
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| 4-Tay for the Bay
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| What’cha say?
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| Hahahahaha |