| Ooh-wee
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| Ooh-wee
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| (Damn, Quad, this shit bangin')
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| Splash
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| Sauce send hits like a boxer arm (Shit)
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| Fast on a bitch like Ramadan
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| Bitch gotta pray to me, Farrakhan
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| R.I.P. |
| Nip, this the marathon
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| I done made five million 'fore thirty-one
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| Boy, you made five trenches and you thirty-one
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| Boy, I know your mama wish she could switch her son
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| If you scared, go to church, make your bitch a nun
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| Y’all really in the way, y’all ain’t gettin' none
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| See these Bathing Ape shoes? |
| They ain’t made to run
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| That’s why all my niggas punch and we stay with guns
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| And my shooter cross-eyed like my granny son
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| So he aim it at whatever when he start to hit
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| If you on th other side, then you gttin' split
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| I could get a nigga touched just to take a pic
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| I could bust a bitch down like you bust a brick
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| Difference is, when we ride, everything legit
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| What you get for a nine, she get for a kiss
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| What you get for a half, she get for a fit
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| If she make thirty-nine, I keep thirty-six
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| I can’t leave too many dimes with a dirty bitch
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| I ain’t tryna see my bitch on some dirty shit
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| But dedicated to the game get dirty, bitch, ooh-wee (Ooh)
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| I got the B, that’s a walking block
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| I rock the Frank Mueller just for the clock
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| I can’t fuck with him, he tell
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| I know that fuck nigga talk a lot, ooh
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| I told you I’m pullin' off the lot, ayy
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| Boy, you a bitch, fix your halter-top, ooh
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| Chopper, it hit him, they chalk him out
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| Shouldn’t’ve had pressure with me, ayy
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| TSF business relentless
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| A crib full of killers, no steppin' on me, ayy
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| Just know if you start, we gon' finish
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| I keep smokin' spinach, I’m blessed as can be, ayy
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| The house, just bet it on me, ooh
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| Seen him out, he dead in the street, ooh
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| My twins, ain’t talkin' Siamese
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| And the kid havin' water like beach
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| Walk in the house, eeny-meeny-miny-moe
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| Bake a lil' bit 'bout the dough, ayy
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| If you don’t got it, gotta go, ooh
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| I prefer the bright or the snow, ayy
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| Diamonds shinin' light, don’t glow
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| And them hoes hittin', I think they doin' the woah, ayy
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| And a nigga clean like soap, jeez
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| Chopper hit a nigga, cut him up like a heater, ooh
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| G before the P like Grand Prix
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| Sancho still breakin' bitches, understand me?
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| I been bickin' back boolin', gettin' cottage cheese
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| But disrespect’ll get you killed, that’s guaranteed
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| In the hills with this white bitch named Beverly
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| Told a bitch to go to work and hold carefully
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| Big sancho, big bird, no Sesame
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| Spillin' sauce, big boss, I got the recipe
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| Pourin' syrup in the A&W bream soda
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| In the trap, was still a baby, can’t lean on it
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| Hundred-thousand-dollar play, I put the team on it
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| Then I bought an F&N with a beam on it
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| Bitch, I’m married to the sauce, I put a ring on it
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| When he took his last breath, you should’ve seen homie
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| At first it was hoo-hoos and hahas
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| But now it’s red roses and goodbyes
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| On sauce, on twin |