| Yeah, you could hate me now, pssht
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| Bitch nigga, cold game, chyeah
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| I might just dock off in the hill with a model bitch (Rrah)
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| Popped a half a thirty, shorty threw it back and I demolished it (Facts)
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| Asked about you in your hood and they told me you was not legit (Pussy)
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| We the last of a dyin' breed, I hope they acknowledge it (For real)
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| I hope that when I go I’m remembered (Ha, for real)
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| I got a heart full of anger (Damn), poppin' Percocets like I’m injured (Shit)
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| Nigga tried to rob me, that was way back in September (Way back)
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| So I held the AK to the sky like it’s Simba (Frrp)
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| We ain’t have no heater, it was cold in December (Bah)
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| Coldest day in the winter (Bah), dropped the top in the winter (Chyeah)
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| We ain’t got not time for fuckin' hidden agendas
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| Police run in the spot, we put the drugs in the blender (Rr)
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| 20/20 vision, tunnel vision, ain’t no competition (Grr)
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| Niggas used to call us them magicians, we made shit go missin' (Yeah)
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| Used to post up in the dirty kitchen, Slayter water whippin' (Whip, whip)
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| We was out here doin' other shit that we don’t gotta mention (Shh)
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| Lil' bro just got sentenced for four, he got caught with a weapon (Blatt)
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| Shoutout to the girl I’m fuckin', now she brings me other women (For real)
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| Know some niggas that can’t wait until the day they catch me slippin'
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| Feelin' diabolical, but I’ma send those boys to Heaven
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| Yeah, look
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| My plug did a lot for me, Black Soprano, Monopoly
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| A nigga catch me slippin', that probably be on the hockey rink
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| Bad bitches flock to me, obviously
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| I put up thirty K and get ten of y’all hit, that’s just a wash to me
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| My nigga spinnin', made a masterpiece with half a ki'
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| Me and gang fuckin' Russian models all fashion week (All fashion week)
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| Shoot somethin', then get back to me
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| Where you rappers get the audacity to even send a track to me? |
| (Who, you?)
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| In the restaurant, let it hit me and Slayter (My nigga)
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| Took the money out his pocket and gave the tip to the waiter
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| This the youngest with new guns and old heads and gators
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| And for niggas like who survived without a label
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| Back to the basics, though, paper all we knew, grindin' all we do
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| Ice from my watch drippin' in this 1942
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| The plug told me I was fearless and y’all just be spooked
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| You gotta spend at least a dub just to call him a deuce
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| Celebratin', we gon' pop these bottles all we want
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| .40 on me, smokin', this gelato .41
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| Before this rap money they dope encouraged us, nigga
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| Still got a stash house back home with no furniture in it
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| THE BUTCHER comin'
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| Gang with us like Dame Lillard, insane pillars
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| Hustle sold separately, word came with us
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| Rap lane or the trap lane, both lanes with it
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| Whole thing clickin', whole thing flippin' for the pippin'
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| Keep the operation, kill our opposition
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| Lil' punks get hit with the hammer without the clip in
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| Parked in front the crib, abort the mission
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| God sendin' signs, when he talk, I listen
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| One thing he blessed me with was flawless vision
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| I got a knack for eyeballin' those zips, I got an easy system
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| Better numbers to avoid collision
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| Heavy is the head that wears the crown, I play my position
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| You talkin' to the hustlers, I’m a top seed, possibly top three
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| One of the few that break it down for you, probably
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| Kushed God, I’m John Moxley
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| Still move a couple boxes at top speed
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| Claude Monet, I’m paintin' pictures in the form of scriptures
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| St. Thomas, workin' on my jump shot, I was rockin' linen
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| Lots of women, three-story yacht, we was just vibin' wit' 'em
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| Vibes, we hit 'em, back to back Lamb' trucks, we be slidin' in 'em
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| I remember cheffin' ready, rock inside a heavy pot
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| For ten K we had the welly pop day that «Chevy» dropped
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| Hidden hills, model hoes with deals, givin' mega top
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| Popped a pill before they brought the bill, I was hella bopped
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| Uh, I came a long way from sellin' yellow tops
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| Duckin' from the cops, cased up, used to stress a lot
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| Fuck the opps, take this stream money, get a nigga shot
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| Free money, bank scheme money, you know how we rock
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| Lil' bro just punched his whole crib, my nigga pieces hot
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| AKs, .40s wit' the drums, right at Lisa spot
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| Diva thot, suck me in the car, we don’t speak a lot
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| Creep the drop, Pacific coast highway, bumpin' Speakerboxxx |