| They’re brand-new. |
| We just got them in
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| That’ll stop anything that moves
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| Just touch the trigger, the beam comes on and you put the red dot where you
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| want the bullet to go. |
| You can’t miss
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| That .38—it's a fine gun
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| Look, I got shot in the helmet, and I ain’t feel a thing
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| Sold crack to my mama and I ain’t feel ashamed
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| You niggas talkin' like killers, but won’t kill a thing
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| Might go to the nigga show just to steal his chain
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| I’ll be the first one blamin' a shot
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| It’s like in Juice when Raheem gave the hammer to 'Pac
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| Watch how I stand in the spot, put the grams in the pot
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| Flip it twice, might take my bitch to Atlanta to shop
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| Clips with 30 shots jammed in the Glocks
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| Bricks from the cartel, naked ladies stamped in the blocks (woo!)
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| Ain’t nothing 'bout me weak, nigga
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| Wig shot, I left that spitter in the weak nigga
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| I’m just here to get the safe from you
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| If I don’t get it then I’ma just take the bone out your face from you
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| Them fuck niggas in the hood, they’ll fake love you
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| Next thing you know, they in your bushes tryna wait for you
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| You got pussy in your heart, homie, I can’t trust you
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| You lose a part on your body when the K cut you
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| I say «fuck you!"nigga
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| I might drop you from the top of your projects, they’ll have to scrape up you
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| Big dutch and a dick suck what I wake up to
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| Fifth tuck when the shit buck, it’ll break up you, uh
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| Griselda nigga, that’s the set
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| Clap the TECCs, savages crash and rest
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| Snatch the baby out the bassinet
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| Look, I don’t fuck with a nigga if we ain’t been cool
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| I ain’t got shit for a nigga but Mac 10 wounds
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| I spit the illest shit, I vision it before I even pen them sentences
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| I close my eyes and the pen move (yeah)
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| I see you niggas and your thin jewels
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| Don’t make me show up to your show with like 10 goons
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| Light up the sour and the
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| A little savage hit a nigga in his melon twice
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| Shout out to 'chine on his pedal bike
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| His trap hanging 'round his neck, using the strings from his yellow Nikes
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| Niggas went from selling weight to mailing kites
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| I’m putting on so when they home, I can set 'em right (free the homie)
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| Who you playing with, homie? |
| We ain’t the same, you a lame
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| Get the fuck up outta my lane, you know the name
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| You say you got guns, it ain’t a thang
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| I will aim, I keep Macs around me like Wayne, mothafucka
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| …fucking E. Coli
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| Yo, you wanna get fucked up, yo
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| Drive down to Arizona, get what I mean?
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| First off, work out outside, come back inside
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| Get you a little fever
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| Then take you down to Arizona
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| And then my man Rico pull up to you with at least four to seven E. Coli’s
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| Take those
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| And then…
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| Go to the fucking… |