| Loaded gun…
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| Bang bang bang…
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| Bang bang bang…
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| Feels like a loaded gun, bang
|
| Loaded gun, loaded gun
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| Aiming right, bang
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| Aiming right at my head
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| Loaded gun, bang
|
| Loaded gun, loaded gun
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| Firing up, bang, at my head
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| Walking through life
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| Not really knowing what’s gonna happen
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| Living in fear, in fear of me relapsin'
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| The streets keep calling, bang
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| There’s no time for talking
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| So what you wanna know first?
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| These streets or these drugs, which one is worse?
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| Well, damn, shit, this is a cold world
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| Could only prop a nigga right for a warm hearse
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| I know, so many niggas trying to cap Tsu
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| Cause this buzz big and this hat blue
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| So many answers in this capsule
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| At the point where I’m feeling like I have to
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| Well, ever felt you wanna get away?
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| Man, I hate when that happens and shit
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| Cause you feel the same way when you back from the trip
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| But fucking with the same vice or getting back with the bitch
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| Dark room, thoughts, weed
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| Demons spread from nothing but sweat
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| Thinking, thinking like French kissing the fifth, right?
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| Right, or maybe Russian roulette
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| Four thorns break to a part
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| Couple blunts, but I swear I bought more to spark
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| It’ll be a long night. |
| Think I should’ve took a left, made the wrong right and
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| still trying to right wrongs
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| Shit, these troubles seem life long
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| Survive or try to paint pictures daily as Picasso
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| Grandma pray, and I don’t
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| But I’m here so it’s working, shit, it gotta be
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| How can something I give so much to
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| Still wanna take a lot of me?
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| Shit, we don’t dare to ask, oh shit, we don’t care to ask
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| If I close my eyes and let it go I probably won’t hear the blast
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| Feels like a loaded gun, bang
|
| Loaded gun, loaded gun
|
| Aiming right, bang
|
| Aiming right at my head
|
| Loaded gun, bang
|
| Loaded gun, loaded gun
|
| Firing up, bang, at my head
|
| Walking through life
|
| Not really knowing what’s gonna happen
|
| Living in fear, in fear of me relapsin'
|
| The streets keep calling, bang
|
| There’s no time for talking
|
| Thinking what am I here for, sometimes a nigga feel dead
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| Thinking what do I care for, just a fucked up pill head
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| Nothing left, can’t share more, just know a nigga tried, Lord
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| But an old addicts, old habits
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| Give another meaning to the term 'Vice Lord'
|
| And I still ain’t spoke to my pops
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| We should have handled this much sooner
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| Don’t agree with me, just be with me
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| After all I’m still your junior
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| Look, got two trying to make me choose
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| They don’t get this shit cut close
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| If I could ever tell him the truth
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| I might say I’m in love with both
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| And that can’t be the answer, no, gotta go see grandpa
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| I’m up here fighting with broads
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| He down South fighting with cancer
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| And I can’t make that same mistake
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| That I made years ago with grandma
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| Gotta put my career on hold
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| And go see him while I still got the chance to
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| Stained by what I can’t do, this pain substantial
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| And a millionaire couldn’t come and solve it
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| No, this debt ain’t financial
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| More like a loaded gun, and these thoughts keep stalking
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| I’m caught in between a war of words
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| What’s worse is I’m the only one talking
|
| Feels like a loaded gun, bang
|
| Loaded gun, loaded gun
|
| Aiming right, bang
|
| Aiming right at my head
|
| Loaded gun, bang
|
| Loaded gun, loaded gun
|
| Firing up, bang, at my head
|
| Walking through life
|
| Not really knowing what’s gonna happen
|
| Living in fear, in fear of me relapsin'
|
| The streets keep calling, bang
|
| There’s no time for talking |