| Let’s go
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| I come through bitch
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| With my muthafuckin' niggs
|
| And I couldn’t give a fuck
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| By how you hoes feel
|
| Dip through with the steel
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| All in a bitch’s face
|
| Put my sticker on her ass
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| Tell her let a nigga pass
|
| At the summer jam
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| With my backstage pass
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| Bought 'em from the base
|
| So we thuggin' on the grass
|
| Watchin' time pass
|
| Cuz I’m waitin' on the real shit
|
| Performin' at the after party
|
| Sold when you see a mix
|
| Scream real loud bitch
|
| Like your real proud
|
| A G got tossed in the crowd
|
| Then I got lost in the cloud
|
| In the Benz
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| With my nigga Twin
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| Honkin' at her and her friends
|
| Watchin' her, watch the rims
|
| I bet they wanna hop in
|
| Even though they on dubs
|
| Too love what a thug do
|
| I know you got your bread right
|
| Let’s see if your head right
|
| In the traffic in the middle of the night
|
| Do you love what you feel
|
| In love with you
|
| Real gangsta
|
| Yo, uh, yo
|
| Real gangstas everywhere
|
| Smokin' rope in the alley
|
| Just don’t care
|
| Swangin' eights in the alley
|
| The Hus long here
|
| All the hoes on my dick
|
| I got to be there
|
| But I’d rather hang out
|
| And hustle all year
|
| Cuz the paper don’t stop
|
| The block is on pop
|
| It’s the dope game, cocaine
|
| Locced out to the brain
|
| Give shit 'bout a bitch
|
| Silly with the chop man
|
| I’d rather hang
|
| Wit my niggas on the drug spot
|
| Don’t talk on a snitch when his gun pop
|
| 1 double O duece 3
|
| Niggas gettin' packed in a row 'fo deep
|
| Movin' on Fourth Street
|
| Yeah ho, check out my shit
|
| I couldn’t give a shit about
|
| A shitty haired bitch
|
| Tossed up, purssed slut
|
| Tryin' to get rich
|
| Slide my shit down a and burned
|
| Gone on a bitch
|
| Gettin' dope-fiend dumb
|
| Nigga gone off this shit
|
| And I don’t pop pills
|
| I pop niggas with the clip
|
| You faggot ass nigga
|
| What are you smokin'?
|
| I know to dip hard
|
| To the knock I’m yokin'
|
| Like what
|
| All my murder dub niggs in Oakland
|
| And my Hunter’s Point hustlas
|
| Keep the chapper smokin'
|
| Gave a kid up out my low-life, gangsta, hustlas
|
| All you child ass turkey
|
| I don’t fuck wit suckas
|
| Havin' fun like it’s '81
|
| The hoes love the way
|
| My perm hang in the sun
|
| I’m outtie 5 G
|
| What up bitch, yeah that’s me
|
| You a model from L. A
|
| But you couldn’t believe
|
| All the shit that you seen
|
| When you came to my house
|
| Thought it was a hard cock
|
| Till you seen it float out
|
| Rob sittin' on the leather couch
|
| Lookin' like Bob
|
| Smokin' more than a ounce
|
| Close the door
|
| Took a trip upstairs
|
| Got sucked on the floor
|
| Then I called her a whore
|
| And I spend way more
|
| Than your pops can afford
|
| So get the fuck out for real
|
| You punk bitch
|
| And I ain’t nothin' like
|
| Any of the niggas you fuck wit
|
| Just ask Boo James
|
| That’s my DJ, he’ll tell ya
|
| Ain’t nothin' worse than a failure
|
| So get your shit together
|
| Punk niggas tryin' to send 'em
|
| And see what’s in 'em
|
| And every love that I drop
|
| On a chick is venom
|
| I got bitches that suck way more
|
| Than them bitches that suck the floor on your tank
|
| That’s so real
|
| I better paint a picture in your brain
|
| You must be lame if you can’t |