| «To attack without knowing the enemy’s strength is foolish
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| And after being warned, to still attack, is stupid
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| People who are that stupid just don’t deserve to live
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| But strangely though, one does find, people who are that stupid.»
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| Pop that trunk, get the K nigga
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| Get to sprayin nigga, get the pump nigga
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| Come — RIGHT BACK; |
| dump on a nigga
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| Give him what he want if he want we’ll hunt for 'em all
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| He’ll be — RIGHT BACK; |
| it’s got to be like that
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| Expect niggas not to respect you, kill him
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| And get it — RIGHT BACK
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| For those that don’t know me
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| Allow me to reintroduce myself
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| My name is 5−9 nigga bottom line is
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| Bye-bye if you out of line wit him
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| Itemize y’all deaths in, chronological order
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| Those either gon' support him or idolize
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| All you could do is try to dodge me
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| While you plottin my demise while I’m tryna rise now we got a problem
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| Cause if I’m surrounded, I’m known
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| To pull out the pound and shoot, get on the phone
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| And still come — RIGHT BACK — wit a army of dudes
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| It’s all true, just armed with Uzis lookin to resolve this
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| Good Lord, can you hear him callin?
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| They just still ballin, they feelin lawless, we kill 'em all
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| If it costs too much, we hun-ga-ry
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| It means if you floss too much your gums’ll bleed
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| That’s why I don’t talk with chumps, I was taught to thump
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| My way to 21 'til I was taught to come — RIGHT BACK
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| For those who don’t know
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| Allow me to reintroduce myself
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| My name is Juan Corleone
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| Die real soft, fire in a while then he blow
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| While you niggas act raw with your dawgs
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| 'til revolvers gettin drawn, splash markin the walls
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| I don’t know but I’m givin it to 'em
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| Hittin 'em brutally with them Uzis man really amusin
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| How niggas duckin, divin, hollerin, hidin under shit
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| Bullets bustin, bruisin they body, barely bouncin shit
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| Like, why you lookin at me smirkin nigga?
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| I got a short man complex, murk a nigga
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| Bigger than me, taller than me, my squad in the league
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| I ride slow ballin for sheez, all of you plead
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| Who wanna test? |
| Keep scrutinize you and your guys
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| Two of them nines, better shoot them now 'less you wanna die
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| I’m stupid high, Lord super sized blessin the dome
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| Huggin some long John Wayne shit, fuck is you on?
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| We comin.
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| (Man hell naw, that’s Royce) Right, what’s up wit it?
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| (Whattup nigga, where you been?) I been callin you
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| Somethin must be wrong with your phone right? |
| (Yeah, yeah, no, yeah)
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| Ohh okay, what’s up, you got that for me? |
| (Naw, yeah, naw)
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| Naw? |
| Alright well, I’mma get up outta here
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| Cause I see you havin fun with your people (Nah shut up man)
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| Your man he’s a funny guy and all that (Yo hold up)
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| I’mma see you later (Hold up Royce, hold on)
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| For those that don’t know me
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| Allow me to reintroduce myself
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| My name is yeah, Kid Vishis
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| That sick shit, listen, I hit henchmen
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| From shotgun wit a shotgun, surprised when pellets flyin
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| And niggas that was hatin us dyin
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| Roll with them Chaldeans that get mad if you call them an A-rab
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| You might get stabbed for your antics
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| Stay rude shooters with Rugers, put the block-a
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| Out the windows guns cocked screamin out «Erub Khaba!»
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| All races are frown faces with heated ways (yeah!)
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| With somethin in the trunk that thumpin just like bass
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| Trust me, no mics, this shit gon' get ugly
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| Before the boys cuff me, «take that» like Puffy
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| You’ve been hexed, squeeze this Tec
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| Shots hittin jugular veins, give 'em taco necks
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| I rep my set, Rock City, what you bet?
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| M.I.C. |
| regardless, you garbage niggas, we comin |