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(*Noke D talking*) |
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Ha, this how we gon do this straight up |
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This goes out to all you bitch ass niggaz |
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Feel that, know I'm saying, know I'm saying |
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I can't have you around me with that bitch shit |
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Straight up nigga, get the **** away from me |
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Know I'm saying, this Noke D, Noke D's in here |
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**** whoever don't like me straight up |
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Run tell that, know what y'all could do for me for real |
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[Big Moe] |
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I'm a rider daddy, let a big nigga breathe |
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You the reason why your girl, keep jocking me |
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Got too many hands, pulling on Big Moe |
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But ain't too many hands, that Big Moe get thoed |
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See I was born, all by myself |
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If it wasn't for the worst, I wonder who would be left |
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Who really gonna hold me down |
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When all the chips, finally hit the ground |
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I had to stop, and look around |
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At all these new friends, I just found |
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Cause when I started out, singing these songs |
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It was me, Screw and a microphone |
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Slanging grey tapes, on Gravestone |
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All night long, sipping pints to the dome |
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Now I'm making hits, getting ghetto bitch |
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Now all these hoe ass niggaz, be up on my dick |
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[Chorus] |
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Move around |
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Get the **** out my face |
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Move around |
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'Fore you make me catch a case |
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Move around |
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And get the **** out my grill |
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Move around |
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And let a big nigga chill |
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[Big Moe] |
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See I finally realize |
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That the whole world is in disguise |
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And all the pain that's in my eyes |
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Came with the fame, and all the lies |
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And all the labels, with these deals |
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All in my grill, telling me about scrill |
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But Big Moe, still got deals |
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**** Beverly Hills, I'm still Southsive |
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From the cradle, to the grave |
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To the end of my days |
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I'm still gon get pay-ayed |
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From the block, to the top |
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To the last tick tock |
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All you roaches and you rats, won't stop |
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Hollin' what it do, claiming that you true |
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But I got my eyes focused, on you |
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[Chorus] |
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[Mr. 3-2] |
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Move around, beat your feet and get to walking |
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With all that con game, and fast talking |
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My dogs start barking, and things get ugly |
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Touching boys up, getting rough like rugby |
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I needs my space, so clear my atmosphere |
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You nothing ass fools, better get from round here |
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All up in my ear, I'm trying to holla at this broad |
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But you riding my pitbull, like menage tois |
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Running up on my car, wanting a contract |
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I ain't looking for no acts, but you bout to get slapped |
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To a coma, gone on a, get to stepping |
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Down the yellow brick road, 'fore I pull out my weapon |
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I done told you once, won't tell you twice |
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Move around playboy, shake and roll like dice |
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All that grabs handshakes, all that's fine |
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But it's a place for everything, and partna it's about time |
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[Chorus] |
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Move around |
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Fake ass niggaz, get out my face |
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Move around |
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Better move on down, 'fore I catch a case |
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Move around |
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Fake ass niggaz, get out my grill |
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Gotta move around |
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Let a playa just chill |
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Just chill, get out my grill |
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Old fake ass niggaz |
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Old faaaaake ass niggaz |
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Ooooooh |