| I’m sippin’purple magic, gettin’stuck like traffic
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| On the back of his head, S.P.M. |
| tatted
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| Boys down with me, like four flat tires
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| Got Benz’s and 'Lac's and candy jaguars
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| Try to make it rich, breakin’bricks
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| My girl’s name was cocaine, that’s a crazy bitch
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| Was my first love, that I will admit
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| Watchin’dope fiends fight for half a cigarette
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| Do these rappers know, how it really go Or are they just another fake on the microphone?
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| I listen to the 'Pac, I listen to the Pat
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| My homie’s either dead or in the kitchen cookin’crack
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| Boys wanna’stare, take it to the square, hoe
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| Should I stay ag’or should I let my hair grow?
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| I know it don’t stop, even though they try
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| 45 years, in this like a homicide
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| Creep wit’me, S.P. so bastardly
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| And pull so fast-ily
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| And pack so heavily
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| Creep wit’me, S.P. so bastardly
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| And pull so fast-ily
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| And pack so heavily
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| The world has got me on edge
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| I’m gettin’closer to that spot on the ledge
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| To where if I drop, then I’m dead
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| Man, it’s probably best
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| 'Cuz these days, innocent Mexicans get locked in the 'feds
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| Or either rocked wit’a glock fulla’lead
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| Or popped
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| Now, I don’t wanna’be the next one to suffer the same pain
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| I’m stuck in same game, I hustle to change things
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| 'Cuz whoever says I just wanna see lead fly
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| The bullets done sped by, now that’s where your head lie
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| I be cruzin’down the back street, my screw tape bang
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| The caddy coop stay swangin’through the two-way lanes
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| So come creep wit’me, let me show you the ropes I roll frequently
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| Out the dirty, throwed coast
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| What the deal like baby, this is real life
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| This is what it feels like, when you in the trill life
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| This is what it still like, still fly the kite to Los
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| I''d like to welcome y’all on behalf of S.P. bro'
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| Creep wit’me, S.P. so bastardly
|
| And pull so fast-ily
|
| And pack so heavily
|
| Creep wit’me, S.P. so bastardly
|
| And pull so fast-ily
|
| And pack so heavily
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| I’ma stay strong, stronger then they thought
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| I made 'em so sick when I bought it off the lot
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| But I’d fall apart, if I couldn’t spark
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| South Park, slap 20's on my Noah’s Ark
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| Money ain’t a thing, never will I love it Guess that’s why the Lord gave me plenty of it
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| I spent it on my homies, spent it on my kids
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| I put a diamond necklace in my momma’s fridge
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| But all the jealousy kept me drugged up I try to stuff a fuckin’whole ounce in one blunt
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| So many enemies, for no good reason
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| Guess they mad cause I make the dough look easy
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| In the club, smokin’on a hog leg
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| With some car friends wishin’I would drop dead
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| Now that I’m on lock, they still can’t take it Homie, I’m the king of this shit, man face it Creep wit’me, S.P. so bastardly
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| And pull so fast-ily
|
| And pack so heavily
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| Creep wit’me, S.P. so bastardly
|
| And pull so fast-ily
|
| And pack so heavily |