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I comes from a city where they love to hate, especially on that Triple Six |
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They see we really got Bentley's and Benz's and they hate the shit |
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They try to come up over us, the radio even help em' at it |
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But yall ain't got no flows, so hang it up you silly rabbits |
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I'ma keep on hurting you boys, by making this motherfuckin' world rock |
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Side to fuckin' silence bitch for years and man we still ain't stop |
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Still ridin' clean, makin' cheese and carrying plastic glocks |
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And please don't try to test us cuz you know we'll let these bitches pop |
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On you hoes, you haters, you niggaz really like us |
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Cuz if you thank us, then you wouldn't try to sound so much like us |
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I'm the K-I-N-G of that M-P-H-M-S(Memphis) |
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H-C-P, to the E-N-D, others gone be less |
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Come prepared, man I swear they wanna be down with my team |
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Don't let the shit talkin' on them CD's fool you |
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That ain't what they really mean |
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The truth can hurt so bad so look in they faces when you play us |
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And watch how they look, and watch they jaw drop to the pavement |
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Nigga |
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[Chorus: DJ Paul] |
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Why yall Test My Gangsta |
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These bitches Test My Gangsta |
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(Repeat 8x) |
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Cuz it's on now |
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Nigga yeah it's on now |
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(Repeat 4x) |
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[Verse 2: Lord Infamous] |
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Nigga don't you know that Lord can make your life a living hell |
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And I mean that literally, the place where demon spirits dwell |
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Empty all the buck-shot shells, make your fucking body smell |
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I can fuck you up somewhere, to where you were they cannot tell |
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Fuck me with me, you fucking with the best |
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Nigga so all you fucking with the wrong one |
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I will hit you with the milli-milli gun, got a millimeter gun |
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Blow out ya lungs |
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Like them old I-Tal-Ians, Mafia, devil son |
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When you see me coming, better run for fucking cover bum |
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(BLITE!) AK, SK, .44, Tre-8 |
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This body kinda heavy, D.O.A., air away |
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Bitch you better take notes, 'fo you end up cut-throat |
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And ya on the ground bro', with your fuckin' shirt soaked |
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Ini-Mini-Miny-Mo, blow a nigga out his clothes |
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Come out the trench-coat with a Sawed-Off, and lay me down a hoe |
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So if you think ScareCrow ain't a gangsta come and test the waters |
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You will be de-slaughtered, the dearly departed |
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[Chorus] |
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[Verse 3: Crunchy Black] |
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Why you niggaz wanna test my gangsta? |
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Don't make a nigga run up and shank ya |
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Or put some cement in yo shit and sank ya |
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Or make you shoot yourself and then I'm thankin' ya |
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Throw tile over round your throat and drag ya cuz |
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Get nothing from me, but gangsta love |
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No testin' me my nigga, have you laying in blood |
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Or dig you a grave, cut ya bitch ass up |
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[Verse 4: Juicy-J] ({Yeah Hoe!} repeated threw the verse) |
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You niggaz be trying to test, I ain't no slouch |
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I squeeze my fuckin' fist, my nig', I break the law |
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I call out a hit my nig', I make the fall |
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The handle with the bloody trig', is all they saw |
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'Fo yo ugly face was down, on the ground |
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A barrel pointed at your frown, with hollow rounds |
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I bet ya wanna run and shit, it's too late now |
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You shouldn't have been runnin' ya lip, to make me clown |
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Bitch! |
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[Chorus] |