| EP:
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| Brother I’m eating Pekin duck
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| Cuz I don’t give a mother freaking fcuk
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| Heard the floors creakin, somebody sneekin' up
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| Who can you trust? |
| Even your damn deacon
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| Can’t keep it a buck
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| Just your luck, with them chickens who cluck
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| Tellin' your scoop when, they fell off the Wellbutrin
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| Excuses, when the lips go loose
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| It’s no truces, the recluse chuck deuces
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| Hidy-Ho's, tryin' to stymie on the low
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| But a Ganga know
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| From the shows on ID Go
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| My homie G Grhymey said those who’s adversarial
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| Will still try to pose and dap bros at your burial
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| The soul rises, looking down from the aerial
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| These Bloodsucking, parasitic, filarial
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| Catching my drift like chicks catch venereal
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| As we spin on this merry-go round
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| Hook x 2:
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| Surveillance
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| For Company kept turned asailants
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| Femme Fatales, on the prowl for derailment
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| Peep the style, and know-how for the ailments
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| MovF:
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| Niggas crying over spilled milk
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| And killin' over sour grapes
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| A face in every state, scours with hate
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| I keep my groggy eye open out the gate
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| Strictly 20−20 vision
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| Watching date-line for 48 hours straight
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| Psycho’ed up in your shower by your mate
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| While you bump Adina Howard on your Shower-Mate
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| Psycho, original not the remake
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| Be over cautious, on level ground use the e-brake
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| I rather be safe
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| Niggas committin' matricide, patricide
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| I can’t forget the filicide
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| Missing their dosage of Abilify
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| You thinking that your crew were barely getting vilified?
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| When they the ones that prolly switch
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| You way too busy pouring wine, ignoring signs
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| And they obvious
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| I bet you niggas never thought your minions could
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| Till they light your ass up like pinion wood
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| Nigga you need surveillance
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| Hook x 2: |