| Yo, Unc' you wasn't lyin' 'bout these muh'fuckin' cookies, cuz
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| All this money I'm makin'
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| They thinkin' Mason, but I ain't Pappy
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| Yo Unc', as clean they come, fuck it, my braids nappy
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| My older bitch wanted to kick it, I put on Rick James gladly
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| For the same caddy, that with the same navi'
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| I'm up early at the crack of dawn, movin' like a
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| Uncle Snoop in the coupe with group
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| Bad bitch twistin' my locks, Jack in the box
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| Do it major, slang my flavor as I stayed on the block
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| They raided the spot, I'm hot, devilish features, but heaven sent
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| Pimp shit, mink to the floor, my bitch in leopard print
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| I don't trick paper on your chick, somethin' I never spent
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| Just me and Snoop, twin drop coupes, cookie's the medicine
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| Sky walk in the everglades, cuz, I'm forever paid
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| Cut from a different cloth, I guess I'm a renegade
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| Drinkin' Crip juice with a splash of some lemonade
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| We on Daytons and we skatin' like a icecapade
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| Gelato we can light for days, on God I'm a boss now
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| Uptown nigga, I was up in Harlem knockin' Dogg Pound
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| Used to the water nobody get nervous if it's sharks round
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| Chains glow in the dark now, foreigns, I hardly walk now
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| Used to run, now I walk, all the cases I done fought
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| All the bud that I done bought, and all the bitches that they thought
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| That they could get a piece of my establishment
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| Looky here bitch, I ain't havin' it
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| If I blast the shit, watch the opp do a backward flip
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| My Backwood lit, FN got a plastic grip
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| Had an advantage in the trap was good at math and shit
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| Used to bag up to Doggystyle, you can't imagine this
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| It's like a, action flick, with the mackin' pimp
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| The rap I spit will hit you like a tag and split
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| Bag the fit, blue rag, sag for this
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| You mad as shit, my nigga East bagged ya bitch
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| Got blue diamonds, blue hoodies, feel like I could never Crip enough
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| Unc' put on for years, who am I to fuck tradition up?
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| Don't even trip nephew, just clean the kitchen up
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| And keep it Crip'n for life, never switchin' up, (never) yeah
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| Real talk (real talk)
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| From Dogg Pound to Uptown
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| Real shit (real shit)
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| You can't spell West without the ES
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| You know what it is (you know what it is)
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| Real hustlers, real Crip'n (real Crip'n)
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| Shout out to my nigga Mars
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| MyGuy, for hookin' up this motherfuckin' beat
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| Yo East, I told you when you hit the motherfuckin'
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| LAX, touch down, nigga
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| Cause I got that bubblegum
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| That real shit, that real Crip shit
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| You what I'm talkin' 'bout
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| That hubba bubba, that blue bubblegum, cuz
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| You can't get it no where but here, for real though
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| Have a little bit of that Crip juice, with a splash of lemonade
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| And a bubblegum Backwood, and you gon' be aight
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| You understand me, yeah, East |