| I got a headache this big…
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| Word up. |
| word up. |
| word up.
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| It’s kinda hot in here
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| Haha (word up) Brick City (word up)
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| Funk Doc (word up) Scarface, yo yo
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| It can’t be!
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| P-P-P, knuckleheads on parole without a GED
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| BBC, abroad, goldenrods out the fo'
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| (Bla bla…) I strip ya down to ya optimo, cigars
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| I pull cards like Vegas
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| Clap my hands then walk away from the table with ya payment
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| (How I’m paid?) Niggas are barely a village
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| I spit with a foul mouth like Terrance & Phillip
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| A man or gorilla (ahh ahh) my cap toot back like Fred
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| So white bitches jump on my +Limp Bizkit+ and yell
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| «You niggas know you can’t fuck around»
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| Haha yeah, you see me, you be duckin up and down
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| (Yo yo yo) Super Lex, cop a thing-thing
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| Guzzle it down with two bottle of Ginseng
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| Fuck ya brains out hold when Al Green sings
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| When your out cold, bitch steal ya bling bling
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| You died for ya mom and pop, don’t sweat it
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| I got the next bitch rockin ya birthday present
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| News at 11, Scarface and Doc
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| From Bricks to South Park we say, «FUCK THE COPS!!»
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| Yo, you niggas know you can’t fuck around
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| You niggas know you can’t fuck around
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| You see me, you be yuckin duckin up and down
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| What, these niggas know they can’t fuck around
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| What, you niggas know you can’t fuck around
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| You see me in the streets, you be duckin up and down
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| Nigga, you niggas know you can’t fuck around
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| Yo, you niggas know you can’t fuck around
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| As I, bring it to ya one more time
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| From a state where we stole weight, and dough mind dine
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| And we don’t tote six-shooters, we tote Glock nines
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| And we don’t smoke a peace pipe, we smoke fat dimes
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| It’s a place where it’s a common site to see the 5−0
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| Hit the other side of sixteen and getcha mind blown
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| Fo sho', it’s a different vibe from being downtown
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| Then when ya come into the ghetto and ya can’t come back out
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| I seen the ghetto shut down, seen niggas shot up
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| Seen niggas get knocked the fuck out and never got up
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| The neighborhood paralyzed, crack drive-bys
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| It’s evident we hurt, you ignored our cry
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| On the outside the ghetto just another mindstate
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| And import more minorities to help the crime rate
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| I ain’t lookin for a job, fuck workin the part-time
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| When we could come up on some dough, with good combs and slang dimes
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| I see this all the Goddamn time — it’s fucked up and it’s the truth
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| Nevermind the shooter on the roof
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| It’s a war goin on right here, where we at
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| I can’t complain about what I can’t change, so why dap?
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| Dropped outta high school in tenth grade so I rapped
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| But still, can’t seem to get this monkey off my back
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| Fuck it, I pulled a few moves and ride for the streets
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| And when I start to feel like this, don’t fuck with me!
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| Yo, Young Noble Outlaw, spittin shit with 'Face and Red
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| Bear looped out flows and you can taste the wet
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| Place ya bet, young nigga ace the test
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| You say Nob' got a old soul, blame the vets
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| Flurp shit from the earth bitch, cradle to grave
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| Burnt shit from the fingertips, able to spray
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| Nigga ya mind playin tricks on you
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| Ya drew down, but ya nine won’t spit for you
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| And ain’t nobody got no hostle clips for you
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| You in the mix but ain’t nobody doin shit for you
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| It’s gon' be Hell for hustler, while your neck spoil you
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| With the same clip you had last week
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| And niggas know I know the real, that’s why the fag don’t speak
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| And I ain’t even peak yet, without the heat yet
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| Holla my street yet, cuz I be the beef yet
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| I’m hittin these niggas hard, I ain’t even eat yet
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| Or felt defeat yet, I melt the weak yet
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| Lyrical breathe death — we thugs nigga what
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| We take slugs to the gut
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| Patch 'em up, hit the Bricks, it’s time for our lunch
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| Outlawz, Dirty Mob motherfucker! |