| Brrraat, did that, fucka
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| New York City I’m now forgot, nigga
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| Them new shots, all that cursing
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| Come on, let’s go
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| I’m speaking from the enemy’s terms
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| Music for the dead floating all the way up the stream
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| Blow bags of that red dragon supreme
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| This is the dream, the pistol pregnant with sixteen
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| You go find yourself dead on the side of the road
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| Like the kid from Moesha that played Hakeem
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| You boil with the flow like volcanoes
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| Qualified to spread mangos with the semi auto calico
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| Gorilla glory, this ain’t no Boyz-N-The-Hood tale
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| I ain’t dying at the end of the story
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| And I ain’t never been a good nigga
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| So why front positive for album sales, I got Bloods
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| I got a spring from jail with Martha Stewart bails
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| This the beginning of torture
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| Like getting shot in your ass with a nail gun
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| More movies under my belt than Paul Newman, S. Childs
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| Heavy Metal, a/k/a Guns-N-Roses
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| Illegal money, boulevard grammar
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| For ten thou', will have your little girl
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| Sucking on the tip of the jammer, smile for the camera
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| Some days you eat the bear, some day the bear eat you
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| Basically what I’m trynna say, is you kill a nigga 'fore a nigga kill you
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| Sometimes you Blood and you gotta go against Blood
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| Crip that gotta go against Crip
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| God that gotta go against God
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| Holding the torch up, with a warrior scar
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| Now I understand the significance of why I gotta make it
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| Why I gotta take it, why I conquer the path my ancestors broke bricks on
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| Flows in the industry luke warm
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| Looking for extensive spends from Viacom
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| Or I’mma break through troops that’s clever as Vietcong
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| Crispy Timbs on the red carpet
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| The talk, screaming on your music markets
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| Sometimes, sometimes, sometimes, sometimes |