| «93.5 K-DAY, givin you the taste of good life, your girl Yo-Yo.
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| Should I say is it still all good?
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| Today at 12:45 outside the Petersen Museum here in Los Angeles,
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| Notorious B.I.G. |
| was gunned down and pronouced dead at 1:15 this morning.
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| As a result of the ongoing feud between East and West coast,
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| the tragic death of Tupac Shakur who was gunned down in Las Vegas
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| just six months earlier, our prayers go out to the families.»
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| «Westside Radio, Julio G.
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| A sad day today for the West coast; |
| we lost an icon y’all.
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| Eric 'Eazy-E' Wright, passed away today at 6:45 PM,
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| Cedars Sinai Hospital, due to complications from AIDS.
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| A definite West coast legend, brought you N.W.A.,
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| brought you Michel’le, brought you D.O.C., and the list goes on.
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| We definitely gon' miss you Eazy.»
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| Picture me rollin in that black B-M-dub, headed to the club
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| Fresh out the Tyson fight, Beamer all rimmed up
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| Shinin with the big homie, five-car caravan
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| Ridin shotgun, put that chronic smoke in the air
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| «Me Against the World"is what I told my foes
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| So it’s me against the world, 'til they poke them hoes
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| Leanin out the window, flickin ashes off the indo
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| Throwin up Westside, I see, some of my kinfolk
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| Pull that blunt closer to my mouth cause only she know
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| I’m feelin bad about that nigga we stomped out in that casino
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| But fuck it it’s Death Row — the big homie never told me
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| that my next blow could be my fuckin death blow
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| Tell Kidada I’m not ready, I ain’t even let my momma know
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| I ain’t got no kids, I’m only twenty-fo'
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| Before I can let the smoke out, niggaz let twenty go
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| The thirteen that hit the car was through the passenger do'
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| Now come wit it
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| Never can say goodbye, never can say goodbye (to my friends)
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| Never can say goodbye, never can say goodbye (to my friends)
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| Never can say goodbye, never can say goodbye (to my friends)
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| Never can say goodbye, never can say goodbye (I will always keep you near)
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| I love it when they call me Big Popp-a
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| I only smoke blunts if they roll prop-a
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| Look I gots ta, catch the first thing smokin in Cali
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| And hit one of my bitches in the valley
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| Gotta call my nigga Sean, tell him reserve the don
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| Tell him to get the chron' and the teflon
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| I think they trippin off the homie gettin shot
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| But God bless his soul, Lord know it wasn’t Pop
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| or the M.A.F.I.A., Kim tell Cease get the fuckin truck
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| We 'bout to hit the Wilshire district, get fucked up
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| Pop mad bottles son, twist up the Phillies
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| I’m thinkin 'bout T’yanna, these niggaz is lookin silly
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| If this was Blook-lyn I would up the 9-milli
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| But fuck it we to the truck, roll the dutch, we out of Phillies
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| Hop in the front seat, of that dark green Suburban
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| Heard another car swervin, gunshots close the curtains; |
| Biggie!
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| Layin in this hospital bed with bronchitis, I can’t talk
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| Walked myself in and all of a sudden I can’t walk
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| IV’s in my arm, my wife Tomica at my legs
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| (Ruthless), I mean Records, we got married on my deathbed
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| I could hear Jerry Heller in the hall
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| But I couldn’t hear Cube and Dr. Dre no more at all
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| Through all the bullshit them niggaz was my dawgs
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| Niggaz With Attitudes spraypainted on the walls
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| I’m flatlinin, it’s bad timin
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| (Straight Outta Compton), the king of gangsta rap’s dyin
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| Cause of death, the AIDS virus
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| Conspiracy, I guess the government just hate violence
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| They thought my group influenced the L.A. riots
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| Woulda been here to see my kids grow, if I stayed quiet
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| Took 12 years for a real nigga to break silence
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| Eazy I had to let 'em know
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| You could catch me, cruisin down the street in my six-fo' |