| Who can ya trust, cause niggas is all snakes and rats
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| Hollerin at your baby mama all behind your back
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| Smilin in your face though they plan on takin your place
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| Paid the lawyer ten g’s, still lost the case
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| You say you got a lust to bust
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| But when it comes down to it, man, you sho' go nuts
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| Who can ya trust? |
| Some niggas wanna roll with us
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| But when the bodies start droppin, man, they ain’t sayin too much
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| Out of touch, quiet as a church mouse, not a squeak or a sound
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| When we really let em know how we get down
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| Who can ya trust, scandalous bust’s tryin to set you up
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| And though you didn’t plan on swimmin they wet you up
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| Who can ya trust when a nigga ballin out of control
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| And all the haters wanna get you for your diamond Rol'
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| Tired of suckers tellin me that I don’t kick it no mo'
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| I’mma kick that ass ridin for my cash for sho'
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| Who can ya trust?
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| When a nigga ballin out of control
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| You see it’s hard to tell the difference from a friend or foe
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| (Who can be trusted?)
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| Lord, I wanna be a baller, please
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| But these savage-ass streets keep on callin me
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| (Who can be trusted?)
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| When a nigga ballin out of control
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| You see it’s hard to tell the difference from a friend or foe
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| (Who can be trusted?)
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| Lord, I wanna be a baller, please
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| But I been diagnosed with the thug disease
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| …gettin sticky when I roll up
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| Niggas dippin too close and you don’t know me, nigga, hold up
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| Get your hands our your pockets, I don’t trust nobody
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| Cause see, the game ain’t nothin but a gangster party
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| I been thuggin for years, tryin hard to stay alive
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| Cause violence and vengeance came close too many times
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| Sparks light up the night, niggas duckin from ricochets
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| Baldheads or braids, you can die in six million ways
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| In the heat of the drama, who can ya trust?
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| Hella niggas sayin they down, but they ain’t ready to bust
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| They ain’t walkin how they talkin, they just yappin they mouth
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| Speakin on that thug shit and ain’t a strap in the house
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| Who can you trust, everybody gotta watch they back
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| Thought he was your homeboy till he faded to black
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| Walked up to your mama house, hit you up for the sacks
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| Now you bailin in the hooptie rollin round with the gat
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| You can’t trust nobody in these days and times
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| Miss my homie, sittin on his grave with nines
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| Wishin I was at the murder scene lightin it up
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| For my playboy partna, I was the one he could trust
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| We choose 100's and 50's over tig-old bitties
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| It’s m.o.b., ride or die in the heart of the city
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| Hella busters be fallin victim, swallowed up in the game
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| Black demons, I hear em callin, still screamin my name
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| Fall in the game, but you can never know all the games
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| Shot in his head with his vest on — who do you blame?
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| A victim of circumstances, gone with the wind
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| And to my niggas stuck on death row, caught in the pen
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| Never let em see you sweat, we’re all born in sin
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| Suckers’ll never really see through the hearts of the real men
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| When the shit goes down niggas be up in the clouds
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| Suckers ain’t sayin nothin, they just talkin aloud
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| Entertainin the crowd tryin to get a few stripes
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| I ain’t down for ballin, already got two strikes
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| Niggas tryin to make me k out
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| And some people say, «My A.K. |
| is the way out»
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| Stay out of bullshit and keep my head over the water
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| Lot of niggas, see em hungry, blood-thirsty for dollars
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| Ridin for the cream, niggas think I’m doin 3 months
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| But on the real, homie, you can be touched
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| Now who can ya trust? |