| Cocaine flow, cocaine dough
|
| Where that money, where that paper, where that cocaine go?
|
| Lay 'em down, face first, take the numbers out his cell
|
| Get his connect to gag him, so the faggot don’t yell
|
| «Help! |
| I’m being robbed!»
|
| What happened to that street shit you rap about?
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| Where that spot that you sell heron, and dope and all that crack about
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| Niggas stop fronting, you don’t own a glock
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| If I take it off your neck, you probably call the cop, it’s like
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| «Help! |
| I’m being robbed!»
|
| Aiyo, I had to shove the fifth in his mouth
|
| He tried to raise the price on me in the spring, in the midst of a drought
|
| Told him papi, no need, just put the slabs in the bag
|
| Then I told him shut the fuck up but his dog even said «arf! |
| arf!»
|
| «Help! |
| I’m being robbed!»
|
| '88 Riker’s Isle, banging for phone time
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| One big nigga slid through, bulky with two shines
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| Winked at my goons, they leave quick, big man ran
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| To the bubble, leaking, repeating that help shit
|
| «Help! |
| I’m being robbed!»
|
| We smack niggas up, shake 'em down as we see 'em
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| Take his jewelry and his podium
|
| Sheek and Ghostface on our '88 shit, get your chest hit
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| Box cutter, get your face split, they yelling like!
|
| «Help! |
| I’m being robbed!»
|
| Out of respect, I through the gun to his neck, he had singles and loose change
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| And yo, four bundles of wet
|
| Told him, yo, kid, respect the juks, and there’s one thing
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| You shouldn’t yell around murderous crooks and that’s
|
| «Help! |
| I’m being robbed!» |