| WHOA~! |
| We’ll roll youuuu!
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| We’ll roll you, we’ll roll youuuu!
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| Pull up slappin in me Chrysler LeBaron
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| Twisted off that happy, Bobby Darrin
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| The Hutches had me, jockin, starin
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| Is it the Nikes I’m rockin or the ice I’m wearin?
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| I won’t pout over it, I ain’t sharin
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| I’m a home run hitter, Mr. Mack Hank Aaron
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| The Mack ain’t carin I’m cutthroatish
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| No dough bootch, you gettin my dick to notice
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| I’m clean like a greedy genius, stay fiendish
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| All up to par, star in the zenith
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| I’m leanin, dippin, blazin my sippin
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| Tapers or vapors mayne, we ain’t trippin
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| So focused cousin, suds keep me buzzin
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| Ridin and sidin, you thought that I wasn’t?
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| Stuntin, young blood push the button
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| We slumpin and bumpin, cutty it ain’t nuttin!
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| Me and Mac Dre — ridin and leanin!
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| Hittin on 4's — runnin dippin steamin!
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| Comin yo' way — ridin on chrome!
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| Rollin down the block — bringin heat to yo' dome!
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| We’ll roll you — right on out
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| We’ll punk you — right on out
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| We’ll roll you — right on out
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| We’ll punk you — right on out
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| I’m leaned way back when I stack my bread
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| Might scare yo' momma with them nappy-ass dreads
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| I’m in my zone, my mind is gone
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| I feel so good, couldn’t be no wrong
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| I feel savage, let me smash the beat up
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| Twist up the cabbage, kack my feet up
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| I’m V’d up, cause I need the dough
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| And I stay with a slumper, that’s all I know
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| We gon' roll you
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| Right on out!
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| That’s right bitch, right on out, slide on out
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| Hurt’s out, I gets further
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| And when I’m on the beat, bitch, call it murder
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| I kill the track, make a swift feel The Mack
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| And make a punk rock, show me where the skrilla at
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| Copper quit spillin that, it’s almost 2
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| With no mo' liquor nigga what we gon' do?
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| I know y’all feelin that Bay Area mayne
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| R.I.P. |
| Mac Dre
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| Zion I the face mayne
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| Amp Live on the beat ya feel me?
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| See Holiday, the Bay still alive mayne
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| Let’s go~! |