| Ice in the drink, and the watch, security, my mink dudes
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| Straight to the bar, me and Rakeem Allah
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| Never leave home without the hydro jar
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| Robbed by the dozen, gucci boots and leotards
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| Aight then, fishnets, lace skin
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| They in here, from Shaolin indictments
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| Bout it, bout it, to live large
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| Solomon liver than a PBA card, I Allah Master God
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| Millennium rides, see we are this fly
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| Then a V-Tech, 4−4, payed tour, baritone
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| Gettin' them wet like Kenny Lattimore
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| Lyrical bullets on related calling
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| Blazers who ain’t never been to Portland
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| Code of the streets, kill or be killed
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| Eighty nine, getting money, police is mad dumb
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| Nickel and dimes in my mouth, my gums is mad numb
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| Twelve bars are rated r, ghetto life, killas in courts
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| Dirty poom-poom shorts, thuggin' every place I’ve been
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| Mi mama sta Dominican, ya’ll need to roll with me
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| Get with me, show me a sign
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| I’m bout to blow the cigar, for humble
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| What you ain’t know, how it’s gangsta
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| Mixtape murder halls, swarm of the ski masks
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| You’se a bitch, you assed out, enough money to re-route
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| And the red bone chicks, smell like L’Oreal
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| Come and I’ll find a way, by Blu Cantrell
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| This has been brought to you by, Hennessey VSOP, and Cognac
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| Yeah… uh-huh. |
| yeah. |
| come on, punish 'em lord
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| Just got here, the bitches already saying the God, plus
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| Adrenaline head rush, Mr. Shaolin, New York
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| Lay in the garage, you see the God
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| Cats be nothing more than a Buick Regal
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| My voicebox revolve like a desert eagle
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| I fell in love with a fish called Wanda, milli' Contra
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| Two thousand and two, kid rookie
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| Gorillas in the myst to rule, polish up, old school
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| Picture you motherfuckers on my level, you pussy
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| Type of nigga, who dancing in the date rooms
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| Singing on the gates, from here now
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| Allah, better late than never, sixteen bars
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| Of gangsta cheddar, eight to eight, gangsta money
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| Get yourself smacked up, if you think something was funny… |