| Yeah, Fort Knocks, Aftermath, Compton to Jersey
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| What y’all fools know about perculatin' on lo-los?
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| Mics and six-fo's, nigga
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| Ha ha, no more hand claps, please, nigga
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| Here we go — Just Blaze!
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| To all my niggas on the porch gettin' they hair braided
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| Cornrowed by a L.A. bitch
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| And I can’t forget, my niggas ridin' the train, Yankee fitted
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| Snub nose under that Pelle shit
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| I love New York, but gangbangin' that’s L.A. shit
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| And I’m proud of it, spit it through the wire so the crowd love it
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| Haters you know who you are, you could turn it down, fuck it
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| I could shoot a video to it and spend half the budget
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| I’m gangsta, let the 40 cal' blow in public
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| More hatred inside my soul than 'Pac had for Delores Tucker
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| Every time one of my niggas get shot, the more I suffer
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| 'Cause we trapped inside a world where you forced to die for your colors
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| I seen it all through the Range tints
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| Got niggas doin life in the state pen
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| So I dread like Jamaicans
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| If I die for one of my statements
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| Then break up the streets of Compton
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| Spread my blood in the pavement
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| Believe me, niggas keep sayin' they gon' heat me up
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| Talkin' that shit like they gon' lay me down
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| But when I come through strapped to see what’s up
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| Niggas really don’t want no parts of me pal
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| Niggas keep sayin' they gon' heat me up
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| Talkin' that shit like they gon' lay me down
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| But when I come through strapped to see what’s up
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| Niggas really don’t want no parts of me pal
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| Who I gotta talk to, who I gotta write
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| Get my Reebok deal done or I’m stayin' in Air Nikes, aight?
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| I handle bars, you ain’t gotta ride a bike
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| To beat Game in his skills, here go some trainin' wheels
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| Let’s roll, through the City of God, where niggas trained to kill
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| We’ll chop you up a hundred times worse than the Haitians will
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| For real, nah, Pharrell, I need a track, homie
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| Dre we too close, ain’t no turnin' back, homie
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| Deal with it, I’ma be here for ten years
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| Spittin' like the ghost of Eric Wright and Big, yeah
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| Let me paint this picture while you sit here
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| Thinkin' in the back of your mind, 'this is the shit,' yeah
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| I spit for niggas doin' 25 on their fifth year
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| Ready to throw a nigga off the fifth tier
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| Them white boys in the Abercrombie & Fitch gear
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| And every nigga who ever helped me to get here
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| Believe me, niggas keep sayin' they gon' heat me up
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| Talkin' that shit like they gon' lay me down
|
| But when I come through strapped to see what’s up
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| Niggas really don’t want no parts of me pal
|
| Niggas keep sayin' they gon' heat me up
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| Talkin' that shit like they gon' lay me down
|
| But when I come through strapped to see what’s up
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| Niggas really don’t want no parts of me pal
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| It go one brick, two brick, the boy movin' weight
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| Now three bricks, four bricks, I’m drivin' upstate
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| Five bricks, six bricks, the nigga got cake
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| Not rap money, but money been wrapped since eighty-eight
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| Look at the world we live in, niggas steady hate
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| 'til the Heckler and Koch, leave 'em chopped up like Freddy’s face
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| Niggas catchin' feelings 'cause I’m about millions
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| And out of all the newcomers out, my flow the illest
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| You a close second nigga, banana to a gorilla
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| Put us in the same cage, and I’ma have to peel 'em
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| The best of both worlds, rappin and drug dealin'
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| Run and tell Lateef I came to burn down the village
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| The head honcho, starin' out the third story window
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| Of my Beverly Hills condo
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| Two long-ass Heats, I call 'em Shaq and Alonzo
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| You niggas want me out of L.A., geah, I know
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| Believe me, niggas keep sayin' they gon' heat me up
|
| Talkin' that shit like they gon' lay me down
|
| But when I come through strapped to see what’s up
|
| Niggas really don’t want no parts of me pal
|
| Niggas keep sayin' they gon' heat me up
|
| Talkin' that shit like they gon' lay me down
|
| But when I come through strapped to see what’s up
|
| Niggas really don’t want no parts of me pal |