| I’m fresh to death — picture man shit
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| America’s most wanted — catch me if you can shit
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| Breaking news — I’m on my mob shit
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| All my ice on — you ain’t gon' rob shit
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| Who want it? |
| Who want it? |
| Who want it? |
| Who want it?
|
| Who want it? |
| Bow! |
| Bow! |
| Bow! |
| D-O-A!
|
| Who want it? |
| Who want it? |
| Who want it? |
| Who want it?
|
| Who want it? |
| Bow! |
| Bow! |
| Bow! |
| D-O-A!
|
| 2 Chains, 2 heaters
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| Drop 200 bands, on a 2 seater
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| You niggas broke, we are not equal
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| Gotti still hungry, grind like I’m 2 people
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| I’m on my young nigga shit — I know I am!
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| Out here living for today and I don’t give a damn
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| A hundred bucks in a Camaro, black and red
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| Offset, the booty wide, it’s sitting bow-legged
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| Threw the pipes on it, pin the stripes on it
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| Car talk back, (Kitt!) Michael Knight on it
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| This the life, homie, all my ice on me
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| Chandelier shit, without the lights, homie
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| Pop! |
| Pop! |
| D-O-A! |
| (?)
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| Reach for my chain and it go like this: you want to, I’ll bang you
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| Ain’t nobody took nothing, ain’t no coincidence
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| No face, no case, no fingerprints
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| Point the pistol at the witness, they ain’t seen shit
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| Money turn a felony to misdemeanor, bitch
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| We like LeBroning from the line, nothing but heat and bricks
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| When it come to beef though, it’s Dirk’s free throws, we don’t seem to miss
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| My whole team winning, I think I’m Mark Cuban
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| Run and gun, never know when we might start shooting
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| Who want it? |
| You stand but my goons on it
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| And if you make a move on it, then I feel sorry for you, homie |