| I’m from Missouri City Texas, Ridgemont to be exact
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| Where you haters come, to get your wig stomped
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| And 9−1-1 is just a number, cause the laws ain’t coming
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| We all got glock 40's, and let em thump
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| So before, I sell my soul
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| A nigga like me’ll do my whole sentence, with no parole
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| Damn it I’m tired of falling short, everytime I set a goal
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| But if we get pulled over I’m gon claim what’s mine
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| ain’t gon try to act like I don’t know who it’s fo'
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| Y’all niggaz be telling lies, straight up snitching
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| Probably piss sitting down cause y’all women, with your make-up on switching
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| Me I stand up on ten toes, won’t fall for nothing
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| Fuck a percentage I need the total, it’s all or nothing
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| I never ran from anybody, a coward I can’t be that
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| Or get beat the fuck up by one of these hoe ass niggaz, I just can’t see that
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| I’m the King of the Ghetto mayn, they call me Z-Ro
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| Yeah it’s cool to take a picture, but don’t fuck with me hoe cause uh Z-Ro, don’t play no games-games
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| Hell naw, I don’t play no games-games
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| Stash spot for my burner, in my car do’mayn-mayn
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| Yeah I’m rapping, but I’m still trapping stacking that dope mayn-mayn
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| If you hang with haters, you might pick up some of they produty
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| Since I love me how I am, one deep is how I gotta be If ends don’t make his best friend, the victim of a robbery
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| So I don’t expect none of my people, to ride or die for me I handle my own beef, I don’t need back-up
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| Cause if they talking bout jumping me, I’m raising my gat up See all I have in this world, is my balls and my pride
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| Fuck talking about you behind your back, I’m trying to see your eyes
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| Then I say something, unlike these mark ass niggaz because they stay bumping
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| Telling motherfuckers they whip, but can’t afford to lay away something
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| And every bad bitch come around, they swear they had em But when they close enough to touch, niggaz won’t reach out and grab em I ain’t never, had to lie on my poll
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| Cause everytime it get swoll, I select something to fold and leave it swoll
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| Hope she don’t try to go through my pockets, when I’m asleep though
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| Yeah it’s cool to bump and grind, but don’t fuck with me hoe cause uh I talk like and walk like, a gangsta my nigga
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| One in the chamber, in case I meet up with danger my nigga
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| You fail to plan, then you plan to fail
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| I plan on receiving residuals, from all my record sales
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| I stand on stages alone, just me and the microphone
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| Do one of your favorite songs, take some pictures then I’m gone
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| Instead of going to a mansion, I’m headed back to the block
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| It’s time to get the trap cracking, I move marijuana and crack rock
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| Not saying that you’re bad, for saying I’m chasing cash
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| Cause depending on rap money, I’d be broke and on my ass
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| Whatever I gotta do, to stay up on my feet
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| It’s a guarantee I’ma do it, until I see me deceased
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| Now if you do some hoe shit in front of me, I’ma let you know
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| And if it hurts you to hear it, don’t come around a real nigga no mo'
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| Take your feelings out your pockets, cause it means nothing to Z-Ro
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| Yeah y’all can make motherfucker feel guilty, but not me though |