| Ahh shit, god damn, niggas done fucked up
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| W.C. | 
| and Face done hooked up
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| From the West to the South, worldwide nigga
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| Y’all know what I’m talkin' about
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| We gon' do it like this for all my gutter niggas
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| On the frontline gettin' theirs, check it out
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| Di-di-di-dada dada-di-di we know
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| It’s hard if you ain’t got pounds or kilos
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| (Riders don’t die, we multiply, shift gears
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| Toss fingers in the sky, fuck hoes and stay high)
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| I started off small-time
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| Snatchin' purses and robbin' niggas for all mine
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| Used to love to catch you niggas known to high sign
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| Bomb on they ass from the blind side
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| My big daddy was a squabbler like Joe Frasier
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| So understand I was born to ride by nature, blast for paper
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| A teenager, hollow-point slugger
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| In the Regal with the french braids and the cake cutter
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| Gots to get mo' money, mo' money
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| Can’t get pussy with no money, it’s funny
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| When I was broke bitches laughed
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| Til' I met this bitch by the name of rap
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| Now with my Night Train it’s X. O
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| So Mr. Officer, fuck you and my ex-hoes
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| I know it’s hard to see a nigga make the bumper swang
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| But I convert the jack game to the rap game, motherfucker
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| Di-di-di-dada dada-di-di we know
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| It’s hard if you ain’t got pounds or kilos
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| (Riders don’t die, we multiply, shift gears
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| Toss fingers in the sky, fuck hoes and stay high)
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| The real niggas is back, cause there’s too many
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| Bullshit records, out on the racks, fuckin' up the craft
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| But I’m about to put the thug, G back in it
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| The viscous Facemob with W.C. | 
| back in it
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| You feel me daddy? | 
| The game need Bradley
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| Cause nowadays your subject matter’s so shabby
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| I rap about the shit I do, or the shit I’ve been through
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| Cause I was taught you up your shoot
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| I’ve got a body count beyond belief, cause there’s an arm in me
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| Don’t take my word, ring the alarm and see
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| I can act like I’m your homie 'til the timing is right
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| Sneak up on ya when you’re sleepin', put this nine in your life
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| (Now who the fuck thinkin' they want it with Mob?
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| When I can map out a job to have a nigga come and level your squad)
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| One deep, you play for stripes, I’m playin' for keeps
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| Who gives a fuck about some braggin' rights, they talk in these streets
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| Di-di-di-dada dada-di-di we know
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| It’s hard if you ain’t got pounds or kilos
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| (Riders don’t die, we multiply, shift gears
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| Toss fingers in the sky, fuck hoes and stay high)
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| I’ll break niggas, shake niggas, fake niggas
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| Like weight apply pressure with my finger when sprayin' niggas
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| W.C. | 
| and Face nigga, on the trigger deliverin' blood clots
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| Buggin' these niggas with buckshots
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| In the six drop with fetti to drop, ready to pop
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| Hot rocks keepin' it hot from yo' block to my block
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| Whether illegal or legal we gon' shine on these haters
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| Keep it gutter, get the paper motherfucker
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| Di-di-di-dada dada-di-di we know
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| It’s hard if you ain’t got pounds or kilos
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| (Riders don’t die, we multiply, shift gears
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| Toss fingers in the sky, fuck hoes and stay high)
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| (W.C.)
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| I’m from the Southside, and I’m killin' with the flow
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| And I’m here to let these niggas know
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| (I'm from the Westside, and I’m dippin' in a fo'
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| And I’m here to let you niggas know)
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| I’m from the Southside, and I’m killin' with the flow
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| And I’m here to let these niggas know
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| (I'm from the Westside, and I’m dippin' in a fo'
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| And I’m here to let you niggas know) |