| Cream up and turn it into candy
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| Mo B. Dick: Oh!
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| Chorus I: I got candy!
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| Mo B. Dick: I can serve you on the block
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| Cocaine, cream, or rock, it takes over fiends
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| I got candy!
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| Mo B. Dick: I wanna know
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| If you feel it, too, just like I do
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| I hit the block non stop, rocks in my sock
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| Pause for a second when I see the cops
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| Rocks or candy, whatever you wanna call it
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| But when I get you hooked, it’s like a muthafuckin alcoholic
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| I stay posted around like a poster, watch fiends follow like a toaster
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| Candy I have move em fast like a roller coaster
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| Knick knack paddy whack, give a fiend a fast sack
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| 9 times outta 10, he’ll tell his friends and they’ll be right back
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| Whole bunch a niggas, and just one fiend
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| They come to me for less cut, cause I boast bigger cream
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| And them fiends come back cause they understand me
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| I open up shop, open up shop cause I got candy
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| Chorus II: He’s got candy! |
| Yo eyes roll in your head
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| Mo B. Dick: You toss and turn in yo bed
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| Cause I only sell the best to you
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| Mo B. Dick: Indeed I do!
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| Simply put I’m the reason why
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| Silkk: Why?
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| Everyday you get high
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| Mo B. Dick: Real high!
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| And you know I got that crack for you
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| Mo B. Dick: Indeed I do!
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| Just for you
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| I’m sittin' on the post, choppin' game with this bitch
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| I see ya later ho, I got’s money to get
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| Cause as long as a fiend with dream, I got cream
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| Money moves everything around me, kn’what I mean?
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| Cause another day another dolla, I’m sittin' on a drop Impala
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| On some gold thangs, watch all them hoes follow
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| My money makes stacks and real deals
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| I keep my cash, nigga taj, I can’t chill, I got’s to pay bills
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| And these niggas can’t stand me
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| Got this ho that said she wanna suck my dick for candy
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| Gotta watch out for these dope fiends cause they be runnin' tricks
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| $ 3 what they gon come with, $ 3 what they gon get
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| I hold the block like a 7−11(7−11), kick yo door in like taj (taj)
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| Cut the shit up like machette, chop the shit up like grass
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| Cause I’m a stay hustlin till they fuckin' can me bitch
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| Because it’s Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, I got
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| Candy
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| Chorus I
|
| Uuuugggghhhh! |
| I smoke weed cause I’m a drug dealer
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| I sell candy on the block fool, to make my fuckin scrilla
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| 7 grams for $ 2.50
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| Got niggas in the hood on hold, tryin to get with me
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| I keep a stash for the drought
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| But the shit I sling daily in plastic out my mouth
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| My homies use code names
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| Like L.D., Big Champ, Slim, T Dove, and Big Mann
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| I take penitentiary chances to make a livin'
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| Every 1st of the month, is like Thanksgiving
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| Fiends hug me like they miss me
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| Hoes see me rollin' in my car, and wanna be with me
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| I get my candy from California by the keys
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| Ship it in boats and trains back to New Orleans
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| And open up shop like Mr. Rogers
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| But sell mo hits than the Dodgers
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| And fiends holla «ugh!» |
| cause it’s all good
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| From the triple beam, straight to the neighborhood
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| And when you sellin' candy trust nobody
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| Cause niggas even snitched on John Gotti
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| Niggas stay TRU to the g-zame
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| Never front on muthafuckin' candy in the dope game
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| And never go to the fedz on ya folks
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| Cause punks get fucked with the soap
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| Chorus III:
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| Mo B. Dick: I got that real good cocaine (cocaine) each and every day
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| A real TRU soldier, on these streets I gotta get my pay
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| My game so tight, So good, so good, yeah!
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| Mo B. Dick: Cocaine, heroin, that fire ass weed
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| Valiums and boulders, just tell me what you need baby. |
| Oh!
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| Sweet like candy, candy! |