| No Limit black sheep played the back seat for months
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| Stayed away from the Tanqueray bitches and blunts
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| Still Mac nigga ain’t nothin' changed
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| Got the rings and the gold chains
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| Now bitches want to know my whole name
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| I penetrate em then I disintegrate em
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| I let the next nigga date em 'cause I don’t hate em
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| I spit voodoo to the most hard to get hoes
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| And at the end of the night, I rippin' off clothes
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| You fuckin' with the realest, from lyrical spillers
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| To killers and dealers and cap peelers, and street guerrillas
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| From villains to chillers, we made millions
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| And paid killers to protect scrilla
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| So what the fuck you talk about winners?
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| You hear that word camouflage when you hear my name
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| I represent the shell shocked 'cause it’s in my veins
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| (No Limit soldier) is on my left arm, I took it in blood
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| Throw your hood up if you a thug
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| And all them niggas say
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| You see a soldier on the streets holler
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| You hear them soldiers on them beats holler
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| Every time them soldiers speak holler
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| Load your weapons, grab your gats
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| We sprinkle daily verbs over tracks
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| Hit the chest like heart attacks
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| When my lyrical hammer cock back
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| And leave bullet holes in your Bourbons and 'Lacs
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| The only thing we give them hoes is a dick and a smack
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| Gangstafied Kane and Abel you know the camouflage assassin
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| Blastin' and mashin', kidnappin' and head bashin'
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| Razor blade slashin', the endo blunt passin'
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| For the cash and, woah it’s bout to happen
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| What you want (?) ugly with that 223
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| Hit em up in 3-d, now it’s banned from TV
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| Niggas playa hated, I sure hated
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| Spark the weed, cremated
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| See this game, we regulated
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| Nigga, you know me
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| The nigga that spell everything out? |
| (nah)
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| The nigga that’ll run through your motherfuckin' set and bang
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| Your hoe motherfuckin' out (Fuck yeah nigga)
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| The nigga that’s catchin these niggas and beatin em down
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| 'cause they wearin' Tanks, they don’t know what the fuck it mean
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| Nigga, that’s the fuck, that’s about punchin' your fuckin' mouth
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| The nigga that’ll tear the club up
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| Nigga, I don’t give a fuck if you bangin' or slangin'
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| Nigga when I put this Tank up nigga you get rowdy as the fuck
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| But if you think I was gonna leave this motherfucker without
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| Spellin' a line
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| K-L you done lost your motherfuckin' mind
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| Stop the track 'cause these niggas don’t know about my click black
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| I down with the M to the A to the see
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| It’s the S to the E to the are to the V
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| Fuckin' with the T to the A to the N to the K
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| And when I come through motherfucker and I raise my Tank up high
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| You best believe some a you coward motherfuckers goin' die
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| Nigga what I claim?
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| Nigga I claim true!
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| I hang with niggas that’s killers with true tattoos
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| I got my name Big Ed from what I put between hips
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| I got my name Assassin from the way I empty out clips
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| Wear the No Limit soldier, thuggin' at heart
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| Hittin' niggas with throw aways when I toss em I break em apart
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| Niggas get your guns up if you rowdy
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| And when Assassin hit the stores, buy the album if you bout it
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| Bout it
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| Rowdy gangsta in this motherfucker, loco
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| So I can come through and keep it true
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| And do what the fuck I must
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| I bust, I keep it true from the 'ginnin
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| Snoop Dogg, the representer from Long Beach city
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| A true tank dog, bank y’all in y’all face
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| If y’all try to come close, y’all can’t run this race
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| I place my self above the stack
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| With my homeboys Mac and sack you fact, we strap for strap
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| We got your back, don’t even flip out or trip out
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| Or dip out, these niggas lookin' at me strange
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| My game to maintain, I let it go, I sell it don’t tell it
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| Y’all can’t touch it motherfucker, or bail it, for real
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| Biggest mama, drama two guns here I come
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| Put down for my last son, the camouflaged one
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| Mac the don, get your shine on 'cause it’s your time
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| And I’ma get my rhyme on and spit like nine
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| Cocked nine millimeters the ghetto diva
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| Mia X-rated, golden platinum plated
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| Face it, when they hear me on the K-L track
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| All them niggas grab they head and jump back
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| Hollin' whoa 'cause it’s goin' down like lips to dick
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| I’m so tight I make you bitches never want to see the mic
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| And spit, the matter lesson rhymes next to mine
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| I’m mama superior, you hoes is fearin' the
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| Lyrical warfare I exhale
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| Some fake bitches like you name is Mel
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| Battle anybody, hip hop or Glock
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| On true I’ma close your shop, woah |