| Dead men tell no stories, liars can’t live in the street
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| Whatever plans God has for me, I’ll cooperate instead of compete
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| We coming for ‘em nigga, (Yeah!)
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| Ain’t no looking back (Yeah)
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| Forward motion nigga
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| Just remember that
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| We gon' get ‘em, get ‘em, we gon' hit ‘em, hit ‘em. |
| (No…No…No)
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| We gon' get ‘em get ‘em, we gon' hit ‘em, hit ‘em
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| (It's that CA all day…)
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| Evidence, Taylor Made, it’s custom
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| I heard if they smile too much don’t trust ‘em
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| I heard the phone’s no place for discussion
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| Just heard a click, either I’m bugged or bugging. |
| (Look out!)
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| Some call it living in fear
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| Believe most of what you see, some of what you hear
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| Don’t believe in ghosts?
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| The Lost Angel’s here
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| Don’t think your friends will set you up?
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| It’s your year — it’s going down
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| And when it does, shed no tears
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| Sleep with both eyes open, and one of my ears
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| Ready, always scoping one of my peers
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| I can sense the fake energy behind your cheers
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| I can slow the flow down, just to make it clear
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| Shift my gears, my enemies close in line
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| If you can’t trust none of your crew, how you supposed to climb
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| I guess keep your guard up, they fade out in due time
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| Why when a nigga from the West where Dickies it’s too bangin
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| But when out-of-towners do it, it’s a fashion statement (Fuck that!)
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| Why most DJs out here say they support the West
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| Bump us on Hump Day, but chump us out the rest
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| How to blow under those conditions?
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| I’m only known where the project chicks is living
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| Where the Ninety-Six Caprice’s on the spinners is driven
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| When Slick spitting better know the hitmen is listening
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| That’s who I kick it for — not the radio
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| My niggas is stuck with California Level Fours
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| To use hip-hop to motivate in other days
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| With the urban survival even if it causes decay
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| Stretching yay, having to put a bitch they kinda like, out on the blade
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| Steady Gang feel the killers and the dealers pain
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| Some of us still got hard flame for slang
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| (We gon' get ‘em…)
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| Watch you colors homie, watch your slang
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| Watch how you make your fingers twist and change
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| A lot of brothers out here still ain’t playing
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| A lot of blocks out here still gang bang
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| Dilated wrong kind, SD to LA
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| To the Bay, gotta say ‘Rest in Peace' to Mac Dre (R.I.P!)
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| Boyz in the Hood shit, Menance to Society flow
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| Now the beats bang like Colors on your radio
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| Crazy since the Eighties, now Kobe’s dropping eighty-one
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| On these rap tours, nightclubs to the stadium
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| Sick Angelino squad, savage ammunition strike
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| Strong Arm Steady Gang, sedatives and stimuli
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| Back with a bong, man we just killed a quarter
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| I’m a DJ advocate, toasting firewater
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| With Krondon and Phil Da Agony chopping up the orders
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| Moving big work with Mitchy Slick, down by the border
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| Yeah… nigga, Strong Arm Steady, nigga
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| Yeah, West Coast is cracking, don’t get it fucked up
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| And Dilated, don’t get them fucked up neither, yeah dat |