| Thug for life, forever eyein' the kid
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| '89 stick-up kid, King of New York
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| Regulation party, daddy hard-body
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| Rowdy Brighton God-body
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| Smooth like a leather bop, '83 hip-hop
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| Top of the world, get it rizzight
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| Dick to your wizzife, murder cats for the right prizzice
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| Four-hundred and fifty-six on the dizzice
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| This is real lizzife, ain’t nothin sweet, God
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| Sit down and think it through, God, God
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| 'Cause coming all outta ya face’ll get ya clap, God
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| You are now listening to the sounds of Supreme Clientele
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| Step in to the party, it’s me
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| God Almighty, Ghost still holdin' that shotty
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| Dust and Alizé, three-quarter Timbs
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| Terry-cloth robes, crisp hundreds in the envelope
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| Dookied on the globe
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| Thank God for my Wallabee shoe, it done saved me
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| Up three-nothing and Salt Lake City
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| Burgundy minks, whips with sinks in 'em
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| Broccoli blown, illa disease breathe, elephant skin
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| Meet the black Boy George, dusted on my honeymoon
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| Bitch like my wife, she popped my Ghostface balloon
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| Bitches think that I’m Dominican, slaf-hash Indian
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| Milk on my mustache, drop to my chinny-chin
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| Dive into dangerous parts, buildin' with thirsty mammals
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| White man scream, «Swim, Starks' sharks»
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| Smack the jail bail bondsman, strength of eighteen Bronzemen
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| Tall like Karl Malone «Mailman,» frame of Larry Johnson
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| Tony Montana blow, creamy white Havana Joe’s
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| Old Suzanna ho, pussy sweet, banana flow
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| David Banner, gamma ray shots, beast will marinate
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| Bones splittin' fatal Wu sword style, amputate
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| Duck Savanna wait, we splashed the glass, ice rocks
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| Our cash high price stock, our logo’s on your rice box
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| Plus your dice box on the side upon your white socks
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| Bobby got the mic cocked, buck-buck, nice shot |