| Yo, check
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| I capital punish brothers that fronted
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| Can only write rhymes any time they get blunted
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| We be at the spot chillin
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| While you’re stealin
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| Niggas is still walkin, Rasco is four-wheelin
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| Only built for speed, yes indeed
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| 27 years old, with no seed
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| I’m a raw breed
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| But still got mouths to feed
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| So don’t be givin me shit I don’t need
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| I make the head hurt
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| ]From the supadupa legwork
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| Now these brothas be wantin the red shirt
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| I bring it to the chest when I suppass the rest
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| Now a different story when I come blast the vest
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| Teflon spittin and written, I stab kitten
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| Comin out your face
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| Sideways, it’s forbidden
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| Better get the guiden
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| I swopped like Batmidden
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| Soon as niggas open they mouth I start shittin
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| Right down they neck, they threw the whole nine
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| Seen you fools scopin my plans the whole time
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| Said I couldn’t rhyme, that’s funny
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| Women didn’t want it but now they yell honey
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| Bring 'em to the house
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| Watch 'em come out the blouse
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| Unzip the pants then watch the snake dance
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| Assume the stance, cash in advance
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| I got the full package but watch the right hand
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| It’s the five-minute drill
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| But still we stack bills
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| Take you to the shop to fix them broke wheels
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| Tell you how it feels to starve with no meals
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| Bring it to the front to pump with no frills
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| All extra shit can get the backsplit
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| Ras be the brother that women relax with
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| I do a backflip, then pirouette inject
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| Plus be the nigga that never lost a bet
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| Television sets ain’t big enough to see
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| And now my career ain’t big enough for three
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| Still down with 'em, can talk and laugh with 'em
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| But tell you one thing, can’t split it in half with 'em
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| Half a 1/3 to me sounds absurd
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| I rather keep a 100% to pay rent
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| Lay out the prints, the plans to stand grande
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| And keep the joint jumpin from Philly to San Fran
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| Never gave a damn how hard y’all can slam
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| Broke out the mic to smoke your half gram
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| A 150 pounds with worldwide respect
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| Be chillin at the crib while Wolf signs the check
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| Soul Father
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| PB Wolf, on the 1's and the 2's
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| Wack crews get bruised
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| Check us out y’all
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| Check us out y’all |