| Exercising with the exorcist
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| Pablo Escobar, bitch I’m gettin' rich
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| Relapse,
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| Ain’t no heaven for me, my soul don’t exist
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| While you was cookin' crystal, I was grippin' pistols
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| And these xannies skittles, foreign bands with
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| Bitch, I just pull up with the percs
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| Percs with the Glock and the work
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| Touch down in LA, with the play
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| Hit 'em with the Uzi, Beretta, I’m barely with the spray
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| You don’t wanna fuck with me, cause I’m bringin' the fuckin' heavens
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| Speed demon with the whip, and I’m smashin' through fuckin' traffic
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| Boy I’m the son of the reaper, I’m grippin' your soul
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| And I’m taking your bitch, I mistreat her
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| Stickin' my dick down the back of her mouth
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| All of my niggas be runnin' them routes
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| Runnin' out of drugs, boy, with the fuckin' gunner
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| Do about with drugs, I ain’t feeling marijuana
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| Off Dilaudid in my veins, and I’m screamin' on the come up
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| Ridin' through the rain, with the heat, that’s a sauna
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| Need to pick me a pill off the plug, but he dry
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| Pull out the slug, I’m like doctor I’m ready to die
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| Fuckboy don’t lose you, like fuck with some drugs and a pint
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| If you rockin', we, I’ma pull out my shank and my 9 |