| Yeah, that’ll do it
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| Yeah, I love hip hop
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| I love this motherfuckin hip-hop game
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| This nigga here is a little nigga man
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| Stay in your motherfuckin lane nigga
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| You fuckin with a Don nigga
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| Uhh, CRACK, follow me
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| 50, meet 50, he’s the fakest you ever seen
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| Curtis, Curtis Jackson, how come you can never ever be seen
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| Once I got you, I’ma give you — my, my fo fo-fo-fo
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| My, my fo fo-fo-fo; |
| my, my fo fo-fo-fo
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| I’ma give it to you baby, nice and slow
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| 50 you gon' end up dead when you fuckin with Crack
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| Talkin about you gon' pop off, where the fuck you be at
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| (Cook! Cook!) I see MJ in the hood more than Curtis
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| Matter fact, this beef shit is making niggas nervous
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| It’s gonna be families grieving every Sunday service
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| End up with your head popped off thanks to Curtis
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| But he don’t care, he stay locked up in the house an' shit
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| Steroid up, and he won’t come about that bitch
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| Is it me or «Candy Shop» sound like «Magic Stick?»
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| In the video, this nigga 50 'bout to strip
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| Shakin his ass, what the fuck is wrong with this nigga
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| 50 don’t make me
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| Oh yeah, you got sixty-five niggas on your team
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| And they’re not from Southside — Jamaica, Queens
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| They’re the boys in blue, I’m just speakin the truth
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| Now we all see the bitch in you, follow me
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| 50, meet 50, he’s the fakest you ever seen
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| Curtis, Curtis Jackson, how come you can never ever be seen
|
| Once I got you, I’ma give you — my, my fo fo-fo-fo
|
| My, my fo fo-fo-fo; |
| my, my fo fo-fo-fo
|
| I’ma give it to you baby, nice and slow
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| Now let’s take it back to the Vibe awards
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| Where that nigga disrespect and then snuffed your boss
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| A minute ago, all I heard was G-G-G-G-Unit
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| 50 niggas ran and they didn’t even do shit
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| That’s a shame, I was sittin right in the front
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| Waitin for you niggas to dump
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| Where all the guns and them Teflon vests-es?
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| We them Terror Squad boys, you should know not to test us
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| «Hate it or Love It,» The Game’s on top
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| Now you jealous of him, when your shit gon' stop?
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| You «CB4,» youse a bitch nigga «Straight Outta Locash»
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| L.A. don’t believe him, this nigga is so ass
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| You dissed «Lean Back,» said my shit was a dud
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| Now tell me have you ever seen 'em up in the club?
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| Nope, nope, no shawty — that’s right
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| You singin more than you rappin now Fifty that ain’t right
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| 50, meet 50, he’s the fakest you ever seen
|
| Curtis, Curtis Jackson, how come you can never ever be seen
|
| Once I got you, I’ma give you — my, my fo fo-fo-fo
|
| My, my fo fo-fo-fo; |
| my, my fo fo-fo-fo
|
| I’ma give it to you baby, nice and slow
|
| Now I told y’all niggas I don’t battle rap man
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| This ain’t a motherfuckin movie nigga
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| It’s Crack BITCH!
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| NEW YORK! |
| I know what y’all thinkin' man
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| Y’all thinkin' Jada gon' slay him lyrically
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| This nigga be crazy for dissin' Fat Joe man; |
| he really crazy though
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| This nigga be walkin' around with twenty cops talkin' shit on records
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| Never comin' out his house
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| Feel like he can’t get touched man
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| I respond one time, one time only
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| It ain’t gon' be no more songs from me man
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| And this for all the muh’fuckers who doubted Crack man
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| Trust me, nigga could response ten thousand times
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| I ain’t talkin back to that nigga
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| The one thing I will promise you
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| If I want get you I’m gon' get you… and that’s it man
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| It’s Crack bitch
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| It’s gon' be a real ugly summer man |