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You know I never was no choir boy |
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Ya folks got a, gang of priors |
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Maybe that's why the one-time's be triflin |
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Tryin to give a young nigga thirty-five to life |
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When I ain't even done nothin wrong, off-icer |
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I have no in-fo to offer-ya |
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He asked my name, so I came off the brain |
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Told him, "I'm John Doe and this is my hoe Jane" |
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He said, "Smart mouth nigga, don't make me do ya" |
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Put my thumbprint in his high tech computer |
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My name came back with a warrant, felo-nies |
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Now they got me down-town, spread my anus |
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Buttock, I'm like, "What the **** is it now?" |
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He said, "You robbed a liquor store; we know where, when and how" |
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It's foul, they got a nigga to' up from the, flo' up |
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My mom, in the courtroom lookin like she bout to throw up |
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It's a strong armed robbery, strapped in the commision |
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At my pre-trial conference, D.A. had a proposition |
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He said if I lose at trial I'd get the ? with the L on top |
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But take the deal he'd give me five with havin most of the charges dropped |
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Hopped on the deal quicker than blast, and said |
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"I admit that, but two and a half ain't bad I got getback" |
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They sentenced me to five, two I gotta bring |
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It's only strike one swing, batta batta swing |
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[Chorus:] |
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It's one-eight-seven on the D.A., cause they |
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Ain't tryin to give a young mother****er no leeway |
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Yes yes... y'all |
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One-eight-seven on the whole courtroom, mother**** em all |
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You better swing, batta batta swing |
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Cause once you get your third felony, your fifty years you gotta bring |
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It's a deadly game of baseball |
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So when they try to pull you over |
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1 - shoot em in the face y'all |
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2 - shoot em in his face y'all |
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3 - take em on a chase y'all |
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Fresh out the pen, unrehabili-tated |
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Doin hella good, and my P.O. hates it |
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Hates Dick, she's a dyke lesbian bitch |
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Can't wait to violate for me for some petty ass shit |
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I gotta get a job, so I'm fillin out applications |
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Fightin the temptation, to slang nightshift, uhh |
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Minimum wage don't get it, five bucks a hour |
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Don't cut it, man I ain't widdit |
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So **** it, I went and struck it rich, on the dope sack |
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My homie gave me two, and told me to bring a fo' back |
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Now it's time for me to start havin thangs |
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I flips me a Coupe and painted it candy-apple green |
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It gleams, clear coat sprayed on thickly |
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Fools out to get me cause my shit is lookin sticky |
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I'm at the club and I can feel them suckers scopin |
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I'm knowin they plottin on me, but I'm still hopin |
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That they won't fry me, unless they wanna die |
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They will be, drippin more blood, than Mrs. Simpson was |
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Sho' nuff, ain't no bluff, here them suckers come |
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Got me reachin up under the panel to handle the forty-four caliber gun, uhh |
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Spun his ass around with one of the fat Magnum rounds |
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Got him on the ground makin funny sounds, ohh |
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I got a problem, witnesses ten |
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Positive identifa-cation |
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[Chorus] |
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On swoll in the pen, cellmates with X-Raided |
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Now I'm on parole, five years later |
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The Bo loc is ready to have me a ball |
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**** my P.O., I'm goin AWOL |
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And you all can suck this dick, I'm sick |
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And tired of goin through all this bitch-made shit |
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I got two strikes right now as we speak, and peep |
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I'm not bout to let you mother****ers do, me |
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I'm petty with a prior, will buy your fate |
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With Wilson in the office, you gets no date |
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So I'm putting all my belongings on Greyhound bus #22 |
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Bound to another state, me and my crew |
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Unpacked my shit, stacked my grip |
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California and Pete Wilson can suck my dick! |
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And if you didn't already know, that you couldn't |
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Trust his ass, just look how he did Polly Klass |
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Used her death, and her family's name |
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So he can yank more votes, and political fame |
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It's a shame, that I'm the one they say is a monster |
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Juvenile delinquent, steppin out of sync with |
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But **** THAT, I ain't goin out, like a punk |
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That ain't my style, rip him from his asscrack |
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To hit nutsacks now, they wanna kill a nigga |
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Like me I blast one blast two that's strike three |
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[Chorus] |