| Pullin up a 500 with the 20-inch D’s
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| A muthafucka better freeze
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| When he see me cockin these
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| Two glocks, bust off a few shots
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| Catch a muthafuckin case like 2Pac
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| A real nigga gotta have balls and brains
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| To maintain in the game
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| Livin in the city with the killers and thugs
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| And might be dealin some drugs
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| A nigga either show love
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| Or bust slugs in mugs
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| Time tickin on my Rolex
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| Niggas be watchin me dippin and trippin if I’m heated
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| Cause I leave they ass deleted, erased
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| I seen the bitch in his face
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| When I was pullin on the trigger
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| One less nigga
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| Enemies stallin, I be killin em all
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| Cause I got the brains and balls
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| And I don’t beckon for no bitches or no niggas at all
|
| It’s r.i.p. |
| on the wall
|
| I be the last nigga standin tall
|
| Real niggas gotta have balls and brains
|
| To maintain in the game
|
| Suckers dream of schemes
|
| A baller fiend for cream
|
| I weigh my muthafuckin life on a triple beam
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| Don’t let your mouth write a check that your balls can’t cash
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| Or put your Uzi where you mouth is, nigga, we on a mash
|
| Ain’t no rules to the game, muthafuckas run up and blast
|
| Drive the car in a alley, throw the body up in the trash
|
| If it wasn’t for rappin I’d be jackin you muthafuckas
|
| With the fully automatic, we killers, you can’t touch us Tell me how you gon’deal with the niggas that feed
|
| When they’re comin from the city where the murderers bleed
|
| Keep a strap on the side, a A.K., Mac-10
|
| Watchin all my enemies and all my friends
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| Rollin up on niggas with the Tec in a Benz
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| Might need checkin my ends, money and power’ll win
|
| And when the enemies see me, I’ma dip in the cut
|
| Pull out my Uzi and tear his muthafuckin ass up Mob shit, dumpin and jump in a drive-by bucket
|
| Screamin out 'fuck it'!
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| When I’m dead throw a blunt in my casket if I didn’t die high
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| My niggas go to war for me in gee rides
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| Skip the killas, real niggas pack Uzis up in the pillows
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| Big figures, hope you feel us, we love them big wheels
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| Puttin niggas in comas if he ain’t dead from the blast
|
| Get to hospital, stick a knife in his ass
|
| Mob into the hooptie, put the foot to the gas
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| Forget wearin a mask and stick and move real fast
|
| Got the morgue on my pager
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| Niggas be talkin 'bout killin me while I’m sleepin in my bed alone
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| And when I’m headin home they wanna follow me on Until I tap em with the strap and get to bustin the chrome
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| It’s bullet holes in my hooptie
|
| Some muthafuckas rollin round wanna shoot me It’s all bad, live a life on the razor with all eyes on me These niggas be talkin, but they be so phoney |