| Man, niggas be gettin' tha wrong impression of these niggas down here in
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| Cashville
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| They thank it’s country musik mayne, mothafuckas got money mayne!
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| Niggas is killin', niggas is slangin' they shit.
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| Niggas is livin, they gettin' it how they live
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| I represented it nigga (Wha. Fuck these niggas)
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| I’mma born villain, ghetto hero to lil' children
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| I’m still livin', still robbin' niggas like gimicks
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| White folks feel dat I belong in prison
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| We got 10 killings and still can’t get in
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| I stay un-identified, but niggas betta listin
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| I’m on a mission, just me and my ammunition
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| When 2 clips take together, bust and dip 'em
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| I know my nigga D-Tay, yeah he gon' stick 'em (Wha, Wha?!)
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| Guerilla, under-aged killa like myself
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| Fearin' nothin', no head bussin' not even bein' dead
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| Murda Squad is here, you smell tha fury from tha gun smoke
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| Empty my weapon and then it’s covered by a trench coat
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| And when tha smoke clears, guess wha? |
| — I'm still here
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| Late in the dark, prepared fo' tha next year
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| Look wha The Game created, a 6 foot murda man, hair braided un-educated
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| See we thugged out, busy bobbin' wit tha snub nose out
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| Cause dese niggas 'bout drama where I’m from — Cashville! |
| (Wha, Wha?)
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| Come down here I betchu’ll say dat’s real, and niggas will kill
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| Cause we thugged out, dat why niggas busy bobbin' wit tha snub nose out
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| Cause dese niggas 'bout drama where I’m from — Cashville! |
| (Wha, Wha?)
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| Come down here I betchu’ll say dat’s real, and niggas will kill
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| The average thug nigga somehow drug dealin'
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| Wether he slang packs or gats, it’s all 'bout skrilla
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| We un-load straps, and shootcha down like Reggie Miller
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| While othas take time to get paid, I like it quicka
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| And do it sober no weed or sizzle licka
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| Know wha I mean? |
| It’s fuckin' teams of Mob bigga
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| Respect game and game don’t respect you
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| Gon' be out here nigga, you got a nine? |
| Get a Tec too!
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| Bitches will check you, or make ya thank a nigga ain’t?
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| Plus you got bank too, a nigga waitin' fo' ya rank, off tha dank
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| Butchu don’t feel like you loafin'
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| Crystal, you drank — and thank a nigga ain’t scopin'
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| Yeah, you tell world you work hard fo' these tokens
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| Get a fuckin' strap and keep ya wallet wide open
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| My nigga look, life means nothin' when ya positive bound
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| Been listin when ya body goin' deep in tha ground
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| What does my phuture behold, will I have suttin' to fold
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| Tell tha world bout these murdas, and hope they go gold
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| I’m gettin' known, so wha happens needs to happen here qwick
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| 6 tryin' and 6 dyin', I’m gettin tired of this shit
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| Load clips, cock it back, ain’t no time fo' me to relax
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| Here they come, can’t run — so I gotta shoot back
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| Why sit and sell' crack, when Im grabin' tha gats
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| Infra-red where you lay ya head, snatch you and stacks
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| If you wrong, but a nigga gotta eat ya hurrd?
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| Fuck handcuffin' ya bitch, ya betta guard ya byrd
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| This shit hard to earn, so Im’a get it how I can
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| Hop in outta mini-van, knownin' this tha mini mayn
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| Don’t let me see tha gat when I’m askin' tha Lord
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| Till I found myself broke, back to swingin' my sword
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| Soulja when I was hooked to my ambellical cord
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| If I’m wrong sell backwards dat’s why I’m here fo'
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| Nigga, we thugged out (Thugged out!)
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| Nigga! |
| D-Tay (And Young Buck)
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| Every time you see us, we thugged out!
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| All tha way wit it, Hell to tha back
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| Infra-red on our straps
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| Whatchu wann' do nigga? |
| (Whatchu wann' do?)
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| Whatchu gon' do nigga? |
| (What, What, What, Huh?)
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| We thugged out |