| Whats happenin? |
| I’m just chillin, you know
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| Checkin my game you dig, you know
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| Trippin off these fools around this situation here, you know its like that
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| I went from hustlin and slangin' to bustin and bangin
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| I got to keep it real, so fuck not cursin when I’m sangin'
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| Now let me tell y’all about this shit, went down the other night
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| Me and the doggs see some niggas, just caught up in the hype
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| Tryin to ride and get by like the FBI
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| Cause we know bout them hk’s, they right outside
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| But we never knew y’all had a clue bout what we go through
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| So tell how the fuck could you speak on my crew
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| I went from dirt to large work like boatloads of keys
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| It’s hard work and it hurts to live life on ya knees
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| So God please have a lil' mercy on my soul
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| What my eyes see, my mind think, my hand should hold
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| The outcome of these actions warm hearts turn cold
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| Lil' snake tryin' to blast me with the gun he stole
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| We hang out, banged out, same route as the day before
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| Blessed with perception, but don’t know how my days a go
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| Could see my nigga hittin' with some pay, a few days ago
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| Blaze up a flow, sit watch my paper grow
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| Cautious, in case niggas wanna cross this
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| But they can’t cross me, I’m way too flossy
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| Out here making millions
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| All in with the villians
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| Let’s turn these millions to trillions
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| I’ve seen it all pop slow unfold, and go
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| Now it’s time to get mo' dough, ya know
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| I play under the wrath of thunder
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| Electric shocks hot as the summer
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| More foul than funner, gun ya
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| In the open range, man it seems strange
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| Even sometimes deranged inside my brain
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| I hold the key, identify then flee
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| Every MC close to me
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| Cause I’m supposed to be all in with my chips (nigga)
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| I’m all in with the crips and bloods
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| Grips for thugs, I nudge
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| The homie on his shoulder, cause every day I’m getting older
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| As the world turns and gets colder
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| Laid back I shot me sumpin', Perfec from dynamic, banging G-Funk
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| Well I moved from the East to the West
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| Word on the street, niggas wanna test
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| But these MC’s, is scared to buck
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| Plus they talk too much and smoke too many blunts
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| You fucking rookies
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| Sweet as Mr. Smith’s cookies
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| Ya hate me one minute and the next ya wanna buck me
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| He sent a ho, in the back seat of my fo'
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| While ya Going Back To Cali, watch how you flow
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| Now ya know, about this Warren G Era
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| G-Funk terror, look into the mirror
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| And what you see is the don of the company
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| That nigga, (Warren, Warren, Warren to the G)
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| Do you still see, what I see
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| All of the homies in the LB
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| Sittin back, and we makin the cash
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| Warren G, Perfec, Hershey Locc and Bad Azz
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| And we never knew you had clue of what we go through
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| So how in the fuck could y’all speak of our crew
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| Ya thought this, ya thought that, we thought y’all should laid back
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| Yeah it’s like that, homie it’s like that
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| Sittin back, and we makin the cash
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| It’s Warren, Perfec, Hershey Loc and Bad Azz
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| Sittin back, and we makin the cash
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| It’s Warren, Perfec, Hershey Loc and Bad Azz
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| Ya know what I’m sayin Warren G
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| With my homeboy from the pound Hershey Locc
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| And the homie Perfec, ya know what I’m saying and Mr. Bad Azz
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| That’s how we doing it fool, yeah
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| We ain’t bangin on wacks nigga
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| Yeah we doing it like we should be fool, yeah |