| Aye, I’m, I’m ready for whatever, nigga
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| Butcher, yeah, ok
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| Yep, just like that
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| Uh huh, Griselda, nigga
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| Yo, uh
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| Even the FBI said the squad was violent
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| They labeled us young, wild, and homicidal
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| But hustlers treat my last shit like it’s some kind of Bible
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| 'Cause I drove with my last brick in a Honda Pilot
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| Missing fathers, he never got his guidance
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| Got in the game, and never got to get his input when I decided
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| It’s not surprising, niggas not as nice as Griselda
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| And I’m as bright as my elders, Off-White at Coachella
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| How you on parole with a curfew and some beef?
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| Don’t shit where you eat, the first rule of the streets
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| And depending what I’m paying, I could send 'em where you laying
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| Body snatcher jumping out the Renault with it in his hand
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| Had to take a few trips just to kick it with my man
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| Like did he give us what I’m planned, I guess I’m filling up the van, uh
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| Bring it back in bales but distribute it in grams
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| Conversations in the cell, where most criminals advance
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| Let’s backtrack, had my first daughter with my first wife
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| Bought my first quarter, caught my first stripe
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| Set up by a nigga, I served twice
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| He got picked up, then he bitched up, like he was 'bout to serve life
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| I turn dope to dollars, how you explain that?
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| Straight facts, blood on the money when it got paid back
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| You know them hustlers who sling packs
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| I’m tying with them same cats in case I gotta get my name back
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| All them nights I had to pray for this, they gon' pay for this
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| No mistaking it, got a safe with no more space in it
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| We put it on tracks, these rappers copy and pasting it
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| Take Belichick playbook and still won’t be the Patriots
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| Y’all shocked, I’m out your league by a long shot
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| My team gave the city smoke like cigar shops, damn
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| They tryna get my man what Saddam got
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| Say my name and wake these niggas up like alarm clocks
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| Niggas run away and they hide, saying New York’s full (they hiding)
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| Didn’t say his grace and he died his first forkful
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| Nigga that ain’t got no pride is unlawful (uh huh)
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| Things that he partakes in are done forceful
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| Dudes that get down like that get done awful (awful)
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| Pull his razor out on sight and come across you
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| Adrenaline rush make him do it with no remorse too (uh)
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| You would do it too, but you know how much it would cost you (you know)
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| I’m in the left lane, tryna see how much that the Porsche do (ha)
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| Do a lot of thinking, so you can say that I’m thoughtful (yeah)
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| We ain’t got a corkscrew? |
| Fuck it, just push the cork through (push it through)
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| Yeah, then pour everybody a glass, bitch (everybody)
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| The objective at the end is for everybody to stash it (get money)
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| The grip is in his arm mean everybody the blast (blast)
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| And fall back so everybody can pass
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| Ask me, and I’ma tell you that everybody is trash (trash)
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| I rolled them Backs, I sold them packs (uh huh)
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| Started with the girl, never should have showed him smack (these niggas)
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| Made it through the hate, they couldn’t even hold him back (wire)
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| Told 'em everything else, you should have told 'em that (haha)
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| Nigga, now they even saying you did it, or they saw you (uh huh)
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| Ain’t no more niggas committed to the morals (uh uh)
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| They should get bullets, double digits in they orals
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| Stay the fuck out of these streets, they ain’t for you, nigga
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| Brr, ayo, MAC with the serial scratched (brr)
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| Acne Studio bucket hat stuffed with cracks, 12 12 lumberjacks
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| My city drug infested, cherry Cayman Ss (skr)
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| Four in the baby stretchers, Supreme vest and leathers over baby Hecklers (ah)
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| .40 issue nickel, hit you close range twice (boom boom boom)
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| Advisory Board Crystals, Prestos Off-White
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| First over at the Albright, fiends knocking all night
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| Niggas like «Who that right there,» they seen the Porsche lights
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| Extendo hanging out the passenger, it caused a massacre
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| (Doot doot doot doot doot doot doot doot doot doot doot doot)
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| Stick with the dumbbell drum, black as Africa
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| Bullets raining, Stella umbrellas, now they jealous
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| Read the same book but didn’t understand the message
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| Drop beamers, Issey Miyake seats
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| The opps obsolete, Chanel mask in the robbery
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| The feds eye on me, I pour some rose gold
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| Drive bys, I let the roach go (skr), still cop big Gabana boatloads
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| I’m so appalled the coke never came back
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| Mr. Goyard Mozart, my shooter need a nose job (boom boom boom boom boom)
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| Left his brains up on these New York, check the chalkboard
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| The Eiffel on the postcard, peace God, peace God
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| God is the greatest, we can never be free |