| The less I fuck with you niggas, the better I feel
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| Don’t know no nothin' else what I can be if I wasn’t real
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| I borrowed those lines from Plies, that’s just how I feel
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| Brass knuckles and a 38 with a beam, that’s just how I chill
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| AK-47 and a ski mask, that’s how I kill
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| Professional dranka' my nigga, my cup will never spill
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| Where I’m from, the police is the only thing I’ll run from
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| Only thang on my mind is money, and what bitch I can get some from
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| I ain’t never been a bitch, don’t know how to be a hoe
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| Only thing I know how to do is collect my dough
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| So if you owe me money, pay me on time
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| 8−7-tre-4−2-4, death before dishonor on mine
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| Me be a punk, I would have to leave this world for that
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| Matter fact my momma coulda' had a girl for that
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| If I hold my hands a certain when I’m in the courtroom
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| That could guarantee me walkin' out of the courtroom
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| Ain’t no other rapper got a set of skills like Ro got
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| I swear I’m half a man and half machine, call me Ro-bot
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| You ain’t gotta wonder if Z-Ro gon' ever sell out, Z-Ro not
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| From Greenspoint to Mo-City, Texas, all of that’s Ro block
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| Kick door burglars started in my hood, so watch yo' door lock
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| Kick that bitch in, roll in yo' shit, take everything and then roll out
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| That was '94, I was hiding out, homicide was trying to find me
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| Ain’t that a bitch, now I got my whole city and state behind me
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| I’m cool as a popsicle, in the freezer, in the winter time
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| But I’m a damn fool and a half about respect, so give me mine
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| Uhhh, so when they lay me in my hole
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| They gon' say that was a man right there homie, I put that on my soul
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| I ain’t never been a bitch or don’t know how to be a hoe
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| Only thing I know how to do is go get the dough
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| The cheese, the bread, the feria, lucci
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| Hoe I just want what’s in your purse, you can keep the cuchi
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| I ain’t never been a bitch or don’t know how to be a hoe
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| Only thing I know how to do is go get the dough, Heyy
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| Even if they kill me I ain’t going no where
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| Turn up the volume to the radio, I’ll be right there
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| (Ro-Pac) It feels so good to be free, I ain’t even thinkin' bout a penitentiary
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| Apple sauce and yellow grits, that ain’t breakfast
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| T-bone steak and eggs back in Screwed Up Texas
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| Ain’t a thang change, everything still the same
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| Haters still hated, gangbangers still bang
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| Police still fuck wit anybody that’s makin' change
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| Snitches still need a record deal cuz they still sang
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| You ain’t no woman, you a bitch to me
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| And a friend, still ain’t shit to me
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| Everytime I make a hundred thousand dollars, here they come
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| If I’m doing bad, they the ones I don’t here from
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| Y’all niggas ain’t real like Hawk and Screw
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| And since y’all ain’t them, y’all the ones I’m talkin' too
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| Y’all niggas ain’t shit, y’all pussies and some tits
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| But got the nerve to say that you a blood or a crip
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| First one to set trip, but the first one to run
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| Own six or seven guns, but you never shot one
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| I Pray towards the sun everyday before I’m done
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| When it rain on me it ain’t water, its money by the ton
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| I’m only one man with an Earth worth of foes
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| They hate me in the hood, in public and at my shows
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| If looks can kill I die when they ride by
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| But ask them why they hate me and they don’t know why
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| Send a playa through hell and back, then they sent me to prison
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| But check me out homie I’m free and I’m still livin'
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| So many women and men don’t want me to win
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| I got God, that’s why they bullets can’t break my skin
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| Roll foreign in the winter, American in the spring
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| Any other time a playa, stretch Hummer limousine
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| Whether you see me in person, or in a magazine
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| I keep bags of purple, ain’t no mo' bags of green
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| I’m white t-shirt, white 1's and blue jeans
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| The MVP and the only player on my team
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| The female scream cuz I’m the man of they dreams
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| I’m represented by my piece, chain, watch and my ring
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| Yea I’m on the radio, yea I’m on the television
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| But never sellin' my soul is the most important mission
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| No mo' whippin chickens up in the kitchen, nigga please
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| If I ain’t pimpin my bitches, then I must be over seas
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| I drop a lot of CD’s, that’s how I make cheese
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| So much ice in my mouth, my breath is a cool breeze
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| Pardon my rainbow, a playa just had to sneeze
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| My game tight 360 degrees
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| I ain’t a fresh prince, I’m a muthafuckin' king
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| This ain’t a pistol, this is a muthafuckin' machine
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| 50 caliber brown, and this is something you never seen
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| Big enough to hit when it miss, and it don’t need a beam
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| I shake a lot of hands, walk across a lot of stages
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| My signature at the bottom of a lot of pages
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| Even without a diamond I still shine bright
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| And I hog the lime light, that’s because I rhyme tight
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| Kush keep my mind right, cuz I stress so bad
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| Sometimes I lose my temper and get so mad
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| But a voice say, «Ro, focus and get yo' cash»
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| You wanna know if I do that, you better bet yo' ass, BEOTCHH!!! |