| Yo yo yo yo what’s crackin'?
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| It’s the one and only Buc-motherfuckin'-Fifty
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| Up here from L.A. to Van, all the way back to Murderville
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| I’ve got a license to kill
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| And as for these bitches on the street, that love my sex
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| But y’all feel my depth appeal, yes it’s real
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| Buc-fuckin'-Fifty
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| I’m young and deadly, that real nigga you pretend to be
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| Armed heavily, quick on the draw, you’re levelheaded G
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| Fuck sensitivity I ain’t gentle B
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| I’m head buttin', punk motherfuckin' niggas for frontin'
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| Shake it on the ground chokin' on they own blood and
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| Make your nose bone fuck your brains, when I’m buggin'
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| Then I just laugh like I was playin' the dozens
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| Cause you can’t do me nothin' it’s like style’s my custom
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| How I function, as a man from a munchkin
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| I keep thumpin', run with a shady bunch and
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| We was Murderville when Laverne was money-earnin'
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| Getting' money like the Persians across the country burnin'
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| Anything movin', any corner that we turnin'
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| And knowledge ain’t one thing that I’m concerned with
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| Deadly hand speeders while you niggas can’t stand me
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| Come through and reject yo shit like Moka’s candy
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| I hear know excuses make sure you understand me
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| Almost doesn’t count my nigga ask Brandy
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| (Prevail) (Chorus x2)
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| Full house, royal flush, what you holdin'?
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| You’ll be foldin', fuckin' with Swollen
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| Queens get jacked by the King of Spades
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| Buc Fifty, Mad Child, Prev One, Poker Face
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| (Mad Child)
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| I’m a razor blade the face it turn cross the line
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| And when it comes to path don’t cross mine
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| It’s strange though, devil with the face of an angel
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| Braveheart in battle, still chase rainbow
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| Scorpion king that slowly return
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| Purified by pain reason fire burn
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| Bitch so stupid got your thong on wrong
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| I’m a cygone bomb, with my fire-on arm
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| I’m raw with this flawless lawlessness
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| Three stars rest to y’all of astrologists
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| College kids, download these songs and acknowledge this
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| Shock or rock bottom with the high alcohol tolerance
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| Skin stay thick, now duck cause you fuckers suck a trick
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| (Prevail) (Chorus x2)
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| (Prevail)
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| Yo you shouldn’t gamble, with things you can’t handle
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| Horrid morbid speak in leakin' fluid
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| If he can do it, then why can’t I?
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| Cause he can’t fly he stays grounded, safe to say I’m bout it
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| When it comes time to turn it out, it’s my specialty
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| Effortlessly destined to death, we all ears
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| There’s marijuana in my pits, this life is twisted
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| Kiss the distance welcome to hitsville
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| Shit it bangs it’s a snake pit gang out
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| Boa Constrictor, stick to dialogue that differs
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| Leave you stiff you no-go, deader than do-dos
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| Plus I look good in photos, hittin' locos
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| Battleaxe Soldiers you Homo Erectus
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| City to city Tokyo to Soho they expect us
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| Toys ain’t us, poison tusk, dawn til dusk
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| We bust enough of this good stuff to smack your lips
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| If you riff, peace to lift
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| My release date on the streets will never shift
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| Cause beats like this I rock them well, Doctor Ill
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| Talk to myself walk and kill, the space and fill
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| The holes with mace, pray the sky grace your place
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| With my presence and draw the line
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| It’s clobberin' time, like I’m made of stone
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| If it’s my thing you can swing while we rock the phones
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| (Prevail) (Chorus x2) |