| Off that ignorant, belligerent
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| Gorilla people like mugilla
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| From the chickens liver stanky rivers like kitty liver
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| Take my finger out your putang you smelly funkadelic
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| With funkadelic reteric for you relics
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| (The buffalo fake the nigga street sweeper)
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| The Grim reaper’s grim reaper
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| I’m a Don like Magic Juan, off that sauvignon
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| The game sprays out of my mouth, like a can of Krylon
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| Riverside to Saigon, I’m killing each track I rhyme on
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| You had tights on like you had nylons on
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| Boogie banga funked out panty stainer
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| Ghetto enough to get TV reception with a coat hanger
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| Smell me
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| (It's the (?) words man)
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| Fake comedy for my accident done on purpose
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| About to set the fly one
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| Down with the ghetto Hiesman
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| I’ll serve niggas in the third person
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| Don’t even try it
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| Vaboom, he’s back to putting in work
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| Vaboom, to make your neck and head jerk
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| Make’em bang-bang
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| Make’em all move
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| Do the damn thing
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| My niggas bang loose
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| Timmmber
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| Hawk it’s the big hawk
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| Ready to chalk
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| With the boom ping, ping
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| That make the Dre swing, swing
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| Flipped and slipped and clipped equipped the trigger
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| Hit. |
| Click, click, click, click, click
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| Nigga, dissa, stealer, scrilla
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| Did-a-any-body kill her?
|
| I’m blasting
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| None of them like Danskin
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| Closing caskets
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| Chromed
|
| Put my LA throat back on
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| It’s back on and getting cheddar
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| In my ride with the blue feather
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| In Linen
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| Strolling with the vengeance
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| And when I make that gun clap
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| Bitch niggas roll like pigeons
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| So if you claiming than brang it
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| And be about the drama
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| It’s WC and I ain’t your mama
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| Nigga make way for the big bomber
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| Mr. all night rider
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| Original bang hand glider
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| Scuffing up Chucks swiftly
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| Looking for a spot launch that mini-mat
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| And that’s a hard hat
|
| Do it till I get you
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| Pistol grip whip you
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| Nigga your pitiful
|
| Picture me back burner material
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| Never
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| Scraped off Serial numbers and brought (??)
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| Ditching your block when live while you work
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| Cause it ain’t no half repping
|
| Either you riding or not
|
| Cock it or keep stepping
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| Come on
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| Feel the breeze
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| What, y’all ain’t know?
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| I got a squad so cold
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| We freeze all area codes
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| They need this — real Gs
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| Critical thesis
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| Bound to break shit down to quarter pieces
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| For real
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| DeVil the boss under the Dub
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| Swanging
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| Giving orders to chickens and thugs
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| It ain’t no bitch in this industry that flow like me
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| Matter fact, it ain’t to many niggas that can see me
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| For sure, I’ve been none to loc for way too long
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| Now the spot lights on me, so believe me its on
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| Its funny the way I’m hated
|
| Always underrated
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| But ya’ll hoes couldn’t come with it if you masturbated
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| Niggas wanna test me — I wish you would
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| Lyrics bang more harder than niggas bang they hood
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| I come thru unexpected like the in Vietnam grenades
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| Got so much heat I make the Devil run for shade
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| This ain’t no game nigga
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| So, don’t fuck with T
|
| Mess around and be headlining on Unsolved Mysteries
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| I got warrants for my arrest by the FBDs
|
| For pushing off (??) trying to take these keys
|
| A female fely in Burberry
|
| Picking up money from the commissary
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| Don’t fuck with Terry
|
| WC… Dr. Stank… DeVil…Lady T
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| Swang on
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| Swang on |