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All you sure ass niggas out here, got the game fucked up |
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All this old friendly ass shit, nigga |
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Ain't nothing friendly about the motherfucking game |
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You understand me, if you listen |
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I'ma tell you right |
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Open your motherfucking ears |
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Shit, it ain't fair but somebody got to do it, know |
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I'msaying [Black Mike] |
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I came from underground, where my hood resigned |
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Nothing left but the bad and ugly cause the good done died |
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We tried laying low niggas want to cross them lines |
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So when I'm saying so you getting bumped off this time |
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Fuck a throw away, |
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I'm looking for the gun in your house |
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To kill your family for some shit they ain't know nothing about |
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We running the south, while other niggas running they mouth |
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If you smart, you'll take cover cause we come in your route |
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Cause when we ride you could best believe there's guns in sight |
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How many times mama cried cause her sons done died |
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I pull my nine out, all of my barrels are fouled out |
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So the bullets that |
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I bust the feds don't find out |
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Which gun, which nigga, which figga points to the trigger man |
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Still well connected not worried about who's the bigger man |
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Z-Ro, my nigga man, |
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Pharoah, the |
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Killa Klan |
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I'm Black |
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Mike, Network for life, ain't no realer jam [Chorus] |
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We make sure the dirty work get done |
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Real gun, popping them although it weighs a ton |
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Scratch makers, nigga we killers |
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Aggravated guerillas, been pimping in this bicth for scrilla |
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We make sure the dirty work get done |
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Real gun, popping them although it weighs a ton |
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Scratch makers, nigga we killers |
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Putting heads on pillows |
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Fuck around and weep like a willow, we cap peelers [Pharoah] |
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King shots, killer greed penn, money hard |
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Nigga to sleep, murdering a kingpin |
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My composer, a soldier, you can call me one |
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When it's time to ride you know |
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I'm ready to activate my gun |
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Straight head shots, toe tagged in a body bag |
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And the outcome you stuck with, if |
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I got to blast |
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I'm coming to get you, pull your punk ass out the picture |
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And fix the braids on your head, that means |
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I'ma get richer |
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P-H-A-R-O- |
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A-H, now you know |
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My motherfucking name |
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I never play fake |
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Easy does it, do it easy when |
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I execute |
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To that nigga and the darkside when my weapon shoot |
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Shoot again and feel like |
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I just made boy |
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With no evidence, to be found |
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I remain calm |
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Murdering edition, |
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I make a motherfucker disappear |
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Slip the clip in, open fire then dripping him [Chorus] [Z-Ro] |
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I put stitches in the general son of a bitch nigga when he bump up |
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Running to the trunk for the pump, |
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I'm already ready to dump |
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I've been working dirty, knocking busters for being surety |
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So I'm at your dome cussing like |
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James, you ain't worthy |
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Like a little old girly perpetrating a man |
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Dude we taking over this bitch and here to demonstrate demands |
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And bitch the down south gangsta |
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R-A-P, 1990 |
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Started with |
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Street Military and |
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K-A-G We toe tagging, body bagging, sagging and bragging |
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Weed it up inflate it down, you damn shot and flipped the meat wagon |
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So save me some son of a guns, when it's over |
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We one of the ones on the top, haters smell it and running to come |
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Trying to drop a dime on us, or trying to take us out |
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After we deal with it we rap about it and then it make us hot |
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Fuck your crime rate and murder rate, running up on |
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Houston Texas |
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Well it be fuck y'all for trying to funk us on a burning day [Chorus x2] |