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(feat. Rasco) |
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[Verse 1:] |
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Yo, check |
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I capital punish brothers that fronted |
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Can only write rhymes any time they get blunted |
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We be at the spot chillin |
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While you're stealin |
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Niggas is still walkin, Rasco is four-wheelin |
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Only built for speed, yes indeed |
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27 years old, with no seed |
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I'm a raw breed |
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But still got mouths to feed |
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So don't be givin me shit I don't need |
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I make the head hurt |
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>From the supadupa legwork |
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Now these brothas be wantin the red shirt |
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I bring it to the chest when I suppass the rest |
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Now a different story when I come blast the vest |
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Teflon spittin and written, I stab kitten |
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Comin out your face |
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Sideways, it's forbidden |
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Better get the guiden |
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I swopped like Batmidden |
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Soon as niggas open they mouth I start shittin |
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Right down they neck, they threw the whole nine |
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Seen you fools scopin my plans the whole time |
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Said I couldn't rhyme, that's funny |
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Women didn't want it but now they yell honey |
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Bring 'em to the house |
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Watch 'em come out the blouse |
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Unzip the pants then watch the snake dance |
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Assume the stance, cash in advance |
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I got the full package but watch the right hand |
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[Verse 2:] |
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It's the five-minute drill |
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But still we stack bills |
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Take you to the shop to fix them broke wheels |
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Tell you how it feels to starve with no meals |
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Bring it to the front to pump with no frills |
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All extra shit can get the backsplit |
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Ras be the brother that women relax with |
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I do a backflip, then pirouette inject |
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Plus be the nigga that never lost a bet |
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Television sets ain't big enough to see |
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And now my career ain't big enough for three |
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Still down with 'em, can talk and laugh with 'em |
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But tell you one thing, can't split it in half with 'em |
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Half a 1/3 to me sounds absurd |
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I rather keep a 100% to pay rent |
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Lay out the prints, the plans to stand grande |
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And keep the joint jumpin from Philly to San Fran |
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Never gave a damn how hard y'all can slam |
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Broke out the mic to smoke your half gram |
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A 150 pounds with worldwide respect |
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Be chillin at the crib while Wolf signs the check |
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1998 |
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Soul Father |
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PB Wolf, on the 1's and the 2's |
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Wack crews get bruised |
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Check us out y'all |
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Check us out y'all |