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You might find me in the |
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Century Club |
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Fresh kicks, fresh cut, pocket full of dubs |
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Box of Altoids for my paranoid niggaz actin foul |
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Stop smokin if you can't be proud |
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Adult star night, not another bar fight |
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Inglewood players actin right in the spotlight |
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Me I'm righter than invisible set |
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I'm visibly wet, slurrin and |
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I'm lookin for my pet |
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I pass to the massa with her whip on her, ask her |
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If she sippin wit'cha bird, if she not we move past her |
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And I ain't hatin |
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I'm just diggin ya ass girl |
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Is that the collagen shot, is that what'cha momma got? |
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I'm so rugged, bullet wound in back of the axe handle blunt force trauma kinda tuggin |
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And I ain't never been what the cat drug on |
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B-Real Quik's to keep ya mean muggin |
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California clownin, bounce to sundown |
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In the moonlight groovin, trippin off the saloon fight |
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We Fandango, the next day hangover got me feelin like |
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I hit a train with my |
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Range Rover [Chorus: B-Real] |
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Feel free to lose your mind, let'cha brain go |
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**** the tango do the |
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Fandango Triple step, right left, then you let'cha dame go |
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Spin around 'til you get a hangover |
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Take your doo rag off, let your brain grow |
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**** the tango do the |
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Fandango Triple step, right left, then you let'cha man go |
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Spin around 'til you get a hangover [B-Real] |
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Watch me climb out the whip with the bird on my hip |
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She wanna set it off in the club, don't trip |
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We crack a bottle and all my fam take a sip |
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Any haters wanna pop at the lip, we come equipped |
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We get the paper and the savor the flavor but never forget about the haters who constantly imitate us |
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Homey we creators and players and rhyme sayers for layers of words, let me say it in terms that you can understand |
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So clearly, you feelin me fam? |
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She's on the floor cause of my homey |
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Quik man And she hits the mall but you don't really understand |
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Yeah I seen it before but now it's gettin out of hand |
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Mami's diggin for more, and she's posin for the cam |
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Little beef got the dancefloor slammed |
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No tango, straight |
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Fandango Birds flock to us like heads to |
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Kangols, c'mon [Chorus] [DJ Quik] |
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I'm a master in disguise, movin swiftly to the thighs |
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Move faster than me, then |
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I recognize |
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That I ain't really got nuttin to hide |
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But the bratwurst skinny girl second, fat girls first |
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And Compton is still on my mind |
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I remember when we used to get scared when they got behind us |
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One-time sayin they been tryin to find us |
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But they got the wrong niggaz, never mind us |
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My tongue tumbles like |
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I'm bumblebee stung |
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Rip out the stinger, you keep talkin shit |
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I whip out the ringer |
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How many times does it have to end right before 12:00 |
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A.M., why you packin a |
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Slim Jim? |
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I gets down on the mic like |
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I rode down on a bike |
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Road rash, skin peelin tonight |
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The club ain't never crackin 'til the haters be gone |
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We need to build the eliminator hater light, and put it on 'em [Chorus] |