| Chorus:
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| I might of shot your homies
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| Once or twice you never know
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| But I still walk the streets
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| So I assumed they let it go
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| But just in case they didn’t
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| I pack metal for clever folks
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| So all that talk in breakin' Woodie off
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| Whatever tho'
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| I’m still puttin' it down
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| Sidin' through the town Yoc bound
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| Suckas wanna talk down
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| But ain’t prepared to cock down
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| They wanna bang like killas
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| But don’t bang with no killas
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| They wanna claim they killas
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| But don’t hang with no killas
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| This is Antioch, the A-N-T-I-O-C-H
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| And I’m the one who brought the Yoc
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| Up out the Golden State
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| You wanna hate this
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| Hate yourself
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| Think your from the Yoc
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| Talkin' down on my name
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| Cuz I ain’t askin' you to jock
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| Just recognize
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| From two professional years of rappin'
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| East Co. Co. Records puttin' this crap
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| Back in time on the map
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| And then some
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| We takin' nationwide infected
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| Each and every nook and cranny
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| Were that Yoc life bakins'
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| And I reckon
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| We’ll be collectin' dividends along the way
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| And that’s exactly were this haterism comes into play |
| What’s there to say
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| Nothin' but hot ones
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| I got for those talkin' down on me
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| Come on haters try to stop this
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| Dig deep into your pockets
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| Cuz that’ll give me a legit reason
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| To make yo knot twist, not this
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| Northern fella Antioch dwella
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| Won’t fall hostage
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| To the thoughts and plots of the jealous
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| Your gonna watch this
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| Independent label succeed
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| Were re-precautions 10−4 for
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| Every homey that bleeds
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| We’ll plant our seeds in some mattress
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| And watch our killas grow
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| Teach 'em everything we know
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| So that they gonna run the show
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| I’m talkin' fathers and sons
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| Uncles and nephews packin' guns
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| Holdin' down the fort
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| Prepared for war
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| Protectin' loved one
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| No more snatchin' up our dreams
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| Through the dope on triple beams
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| Or an enemy shot
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| Cuz that’s the power money brings
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| We’re the kings of our own plot
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| We found a spot
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| Don’t make room
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| If you think we’re bluffin'
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| I assume you have a skank too
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| So if you wanna get me
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| Come and get me
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| Quit talkin'
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| And send the messages through bitches
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| Cuz that shit’ll leave you chopped up |
| You wanna talk behind my back
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| And jaw jack amongst female company
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| And every word up out your mouth
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| Eventually gon' come to me
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| How dumb could you be
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| Maybe you really wanna see me
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| But most likely you a sucka
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| And you hatin' you can’t be me
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| Probably got that A-D-D
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| Attention Deficit Disorder
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| And you’ve notice when you say my name
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| That people won’t ignore ya
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| That’s pathetic
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| Just another sorry chump in the game
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| Go ahead keep bumpin' my name
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| Cuz your just pumpin' my fame
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| But when we cross paths
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| Haul ass
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| Or be prepared to aim
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| Cuz I’m a draw fast
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| Cock blast
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| With heat to tear your brain
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| Cuz I’ve HAD IT UP TO HERE
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| Do your history
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| I got my stripes
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| Sucka you ain’t pumpin' fears
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| So come here and get a dose of
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| This Antioch West Twompsta
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| The demon in me wants to
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| Go back to a monsta
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| And put this music shit on stand by
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| To make a man die
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| How do I cope with this
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| I focus on the grand prize
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| Nothin' but hot ones I got for those talkin' down on me
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| Shit! |