| Yeah, yeah, yeah, yo
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| Yeah, yo, yeah, yeah, yeah
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| 17 More Minutes nigga
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| Yeah, yeah, yeah
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| It’s Clark Bent behind the dark tint
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| I’m in the streets just like the park bench
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| Chain smoke cigar ends, there ain’t no cigars left
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| My weed loud just like a bitch out the piece
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| They wanna blow me while I’m counting my cheese, Jesus
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| , snitch don’t
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| I see no honor in this thieving shit
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| Probably why I don’t trust with niggas
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| If you ask me how I’m feeling then it’s fuck you niggas
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| Look here, copped that ducy off a jackpot
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| Hoe had the blow in nose, Pinocchio
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| Plugs got hit with the okie doe
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| Started barking, had these niggas dancing, hokey pokey
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| Holy smokes he really burnt, Cobain, no chain
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| Get at Shabba for his gold rings, I need them blunts too
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| Pocket full of dead crackers, living ass backwards
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| Tryna front for who, rap so my mama living comfortable
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| But who the fuck is you to judge me, my white cup is muddy
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| I’m bloody, hoes wanna fuck me
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| Doing all these drugs you think I must be
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| Off my fucking bike right, light it up
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| V’Don made the beat and he put a scripture on it
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| This the type of shit you snatch up out your speakers
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| Load that pipe and beam up the scotty, illuminati
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| Got my mind, soul, and my body trapped or am I just smacked
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| Don’t give me dap when you see me wearing trends
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| And don’t hit my fucking line if you ain’t talking 'bout no ends
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| Is how I’m feeling, wheeling and dealing, stealing and killing
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| Tryna make a motherfucking million, cause if you ain’t know
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| Said yo bitch only chill if she’s fucking the team
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| If it’s drama my nigga we bringing them thangs
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| Baa, baa, baa, baa, baa, baa, baa
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| Murder scene, murder scene
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| Murder scene, murder scene
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| Murder scene, murder scene |