| Fuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches
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| The prestigious cats who speak this Willie shit
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| Flood in pieces, my hand releases snatches
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| Smackin cabbage, half-ass rappers shouldn’t have it So I grab it, never run, the out come is usually
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| a beat down brutally, fuck who you be or where you from
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| West or East coast, squeeze toast leave most
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| in the blood they layin in, ask Tray and them
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| (Tracey Lee)
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| Oh shit, I suppose its time to go snitch
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| Flip a line and get the show lit
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| You clown niggaz hold it Down your flow lax, just so you know that
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| We could battle for days like old cats
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| Black, you dealing with a throw back
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| Winnin like straight jacks, with a wide range
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| of rhyme teams, my lyrics they bang like migraines
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| Nigga my name, Tray the terrible
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| Philadelph, wild child incredible
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| too sick for medical attention, people listen
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| It’s verbal ascension, like Maxwell many dimensions
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| Flood over tracks, well, mics in critical condition
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| Killin ya Maxell, unveil lyrical skills unknown
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| for my people with illegal cell phones
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| A real MC let’s bring it back home
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| Live from the two-one-five, that lost a back bone
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| in charge, and heavily on like break fog
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| You for saw it, nigga stay down
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| Biggie make them hit the floor face down
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| (Notorious B.I.G.)
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| What, what, what, the rings and things you speak about
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| bring em out, it’s hard to yell with my bat round
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| in your mouth, its more than I expected
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| I thought them jewels was rented, but they wasn’t
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| So run it, cousin, I could chill the heat does it Ran up in your shell about a dozen, you never seen
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| bank like Frank White, ya hand clutchin
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| ya chest plate contemplates, bout to die nigga wait
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| Keep ya hands high
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| Chorus: repeat 2X
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| You don’t wanna die, keep your hands high
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| Ain’t no right or wrong in this game called survive
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| So you know it’s Tray and B-I, G schemin on your cream
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| Why try, keep ya hands high
|
| (Tracey Lee)
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| Hey yo it’s show time, so I’ma blow nines into your spine
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| So what’s yours is mine, you know what this is Bag the Benjamins with all ya riches
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| How quickly, the milli turn Willies to bitches
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| Controllin your fate, a hole in your plate
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| Fuck the show dates, I want the whole state
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| with squads harassin, all of y’all niggaz who flashin
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| We doing this the Tray Lee way, delay
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| Then nigga we spray, aint no ignoring us Me and Notorious
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| (Notorious B.I.G.)
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| I got a new mouth to feed, I’m due south with keys
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| Y’all pick seeds out y’all weed, I watch cowards bleed
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| Motherfucker please, it’s my block with my rocks
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| Fuck the hip-hop, them one-two's and it don’t stop
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| Me and my nigga Lance, took him and Cease in vans
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| Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants
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| from Branson, now we lamp in, twelve room mansions
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| Bitches get naked off Get Money, Playas Anthem
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| Don’t forget One More Chance and, my other hits
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| Other shit niggaz spit be counterfeit
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| Robbing come naturally, in and out like fuckin rapidly
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| Pass the gat to me Make his chest rest where his back should be Fuckin blasphemy, blast me, your family rest in coffins
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| Often, Franquiza, far from soft or fragile, uh Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper slash dope dealer
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| slash guerilla, slash illest turn iller
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| (Tracey Lee)
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| So nigga keep ya hands high
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| Run all your so called possessions, links with baguettes in Keys to your Lex, for us to make your shorties dressed in A full jack maneuver, dont no body move, just the moolah
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| It’s RNF and Junior M.A.F., runnin through ya like Kahlua
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| If rum sung then you fly, niggaz with the 45
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| but True Lies, but you brought out the real nigga in me Now I’ma cock the semi, watch you strip like Demi |