| Yeah, yeah… that’s what I’m talking about
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| Gangsta shit… yeah
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| Chiefs and cowards, I represent that poison
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| Like the white smoke from the Twin Towers
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| Or when you wake up, in the middle of the night, and your body is shaking
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| Like the feds from the insinuations, that these cowards is making
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| I represent that poison, nigga I ain’t playing, fucker
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| This how it feels to be overpowered, I’ll back out a zoo on your cowards
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| From bulldogs to hogs, you bout to be in the belly of war
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| Ain’t no time for talk, a team of snakes, that slither like centipedes
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| Only niggas who hesitate bleed, I’m from the mark 'em homes
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| Go 'head and talk slick, and see more hammers than the Garden and R. Kelly
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| Nothing but sly bitches and crackhead clientele
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| Call me on the celly, I used to see visions of myself
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| Being paralyzed, I guess I beat the odds, or maybe it was the fact
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| I learnt how to hit hammers, with the presence of God
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| I breathe to express, one of the livest niggas left
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| I’mma have Ghost retire, and settle down with some seeds in Bolivia
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| I shall run the town, pound for pound, toe to toe
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| Blow for blow, your bitch is a washed up mob hoe
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| Pull out the calico and let the cavalry go
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| Rest in peace to the God Imf, Juny and O.D. |
| Bob’s a snitch
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| Don Makaveli’s a pimp, free radio, gorilla general status
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| Like Big Un, east side, the Sha Blood and N. O
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| Big Den, husky bar brawls, the board put a stern on Benny Boy
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| But don’t worry when you get home, the block’s size by the pennies, boy
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| Reminiscing, like loaded hammers at the Denny’s, out of town, boy
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| And ain’t nothing about me soft, and if we gotta kill off Officer Brown
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| Karrell won’t see up north, nigga
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| Yeah, street shit, nigga
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| What you know about that crack, nigga? |