| Aiyo, son, yo I just booked these flights to Finland
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| You still got that connect, right?
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| (Yeah, son, why? What’s popping?)
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| Aiyo, son, you gotta hold me
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| These fake niggas killed Blake, when he was out of state
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| Ran up on him, blew his head off his shoulders
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| Just caught that late notice, got back from China
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| Big extortion trays with the white lotus
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| Nah, son, you lying
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| Word to my Iron
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| Left 'em in Colorado, scheezing a Tahoe
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| (Get 'em) it was my physical day, and we was poppin' bottles
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| Profiling with them dense eagles, new motto’s
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| Fuck all that bullshit, it’s Black Hawn Down, paint the town
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| Get the koala skin, german hammer, twelve shot pound
|
| Somebody gotta, from the way that Blake was found
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| They wanna him cremated, they don’t want him stuffed in the ground
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| So get your passport ready, out of the safe
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| Money, Purple Tape, Reagan mask, mace
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| Head to Virginia, get ready, this is Groundhog’s Day
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| We on our way, fucka, muthafucka…
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| These streets, just keep on calling
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| We gotta, keep on falling
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| God help me, we keep warring
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| Too much, now fire’s pouring
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| Jealousy, push me more and
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| Violence, be fits, now foreign
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| Then death comes with no warning |