| I know how it feels to wake up fucked up
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| With pockets on E, and bad company
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| I wish I had a key to open all the locks
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| I’d open all the blocks, flood them all with rocks
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| Keep clocking knots, cause it dont stop
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| Stay close to a chop, just in case you think not
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| Baking soda in the water till it bubble in the pot
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| When it’s dry it’s hard like candy, butter cookies what you got
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| Break it down into some boulders, fifties look like butterscotch
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| Now I’m on the streets, another plan, a money plot
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| Buy a brand new Benz before you rolled it off the lot
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| It really don’t mean shit, if your ass get shot
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| Why?
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| You can’t take it with you
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| All them things that money buy
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| You won’t need 'em when you die, baby
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| You can’t take it with you
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| Even when they hit you with 50 bullets
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| Fifty times in your nugget, fuck it
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| Love it or hate, like it or not
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| I really gives a fuck what rabbit gets shot
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| Sedidate me, baby, lately, I’ve been crazy
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| Caught up in the world of madness can’t phase me
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| Suicidal, fuck American Idol, rock my recital
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| Esham is my title, vital, visions are homicidal
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| But that don’t matter, even when your blood gets splattered
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| Caps going off like the Mad Hatter
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| You can be poor or filthy rich
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| Cause nobody can buy eternal life up in this bitch
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| You can’t take it with you
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| All them things that money buy
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| You won’t need them when you die, baby
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| (Everything… Money, Cars, Jewelry… all of it…)
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| Our dear brother right here was a good brother
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| He had money and diamonds
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| He got diamonds all, all right now
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| But we gonna take all that
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| Before we put him in the ground
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| We gonna take all that off his body
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| But, anyway
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| He had a mansion, he had a mansion
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| But he don’t need that where he going
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| We gonna be living it up
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| He had a purdy wife, he won’t be needin her no more
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| The church gonna take care of her
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| You can’t take it with you
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| No lust, no love, no drugs, no slugs, no FBI bugs
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| Put one right between your eyes in the center of your mug
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| Brains all on the floor, blood skeeting on the rug
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| Fucked around with the underground, murdered like chud
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| Get smoked like bud, body left in the hood
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| Stripped naked, take off your jewels rapped in a blanket, kick it
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| Cooked him, left in the bucket like a burnt piece of chicken
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| Biten, went professional hitting
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| It’s all about chopping bodies up and throats slitting
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| So you can’t take nothing with you but some hollow tips
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| And then if you like the steel dick, swallow this
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| You can’t take it with you
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| All them things that money buy
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| You won’t need them when you die, baby
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| (Everything… Money, Cars, Jewelry… all of it…) |