| Dear lord help me forget all my sins, one minute I think I’m good
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| The next thing would be my death
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| Hit up J. Chet let them fuckaz know we next
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| We coming straight for the neck
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| We running up for them checks
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| Grab the AK, reload it and let it bang
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| Call your bitch mayday, cause she go down on me everyday
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| Fuckin spitting twisted lyrics to calm all my senses
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| Fuck a label, and a handout bitch we independent
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| A cold day is always feelin the same
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| In the house of pain, wait for habits to drain
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| Never let up, I always get up
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| And running thru the problems I deal with may be the same for you
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| Rather be alone, in my conscience for so long
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| As I sit in stone, I let my intentions be known
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| Blood curdling sour, cause I live by the hour
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| Only a minute to scour to find the source to empower
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| Yea yea yea yea
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| And bitch im dead talking
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| Dead walking on the set
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| Dripping wet coffin
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| Gone pull the Ak out the back
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| And get that bitch sparking
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| Gone switch the choppa
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| For the mac
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| And now your bitch jockin
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| The police ride around
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| All day chalking
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| But i just chalk it up
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| Dont give a fuck
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| Cause i ain’t talking
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| Ain’t it awful
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| How they sleeping on me
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| Im Posturepedic
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| I got pull with plenty bitches
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| They gone want me
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| Till they need me…
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| Ok… |