| We gon make, you niggas feel this
|
| Put your hands in the air, and pump your fists
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| Make you tear the club up everytime, we spit
|
| So listen to this real shit
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| I’ma make 'em feel it, like you feel the holy spirit
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| When you hear it you fear it, and your mind can’t clear it
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| You hear it, now bob your head
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| You heard what I said, get wild like a bull seeing red
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| Why you acting like you scared, throw your hands in the air
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| And shake your derriere, for this Southside playa
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| Beware, of the lyric content
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| Cause shit is my scent, and it’s highly evident
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| These cats got me bent, they must be crazy
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| I rock like Jay-Z, and these labels they pay me
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| You lazy, and out of your belligerent mind
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| To think your cash flow, is equivalent to mine
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| I done waste time, on wine and dine
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| I spit rhymes and grind, and meet my deadline
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| I’m smart like Einstein, the savior of mankind
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| I flow like enzymes, and I’ll blow your mind
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| We gon make, you niggas feel this
|
| Put your hands in the air, and pump your fists
|
| Make you tear the club up everytime, we spit
|
| Cause we gon make you feel this
|
| We gon make, you niggas feel this
|
| Put your hands in the air, and pump your fists
|
| Make you tear the club up everytime, we spit
|
| So listen to this real shit
|
| Ain’t no fucking with us, take it out cock it we bust
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| Deep down in Texas we tough, tear the club up niggas we rough
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| You don’t wanna plex with us, raw and untamed better ride with a AK
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| Keep a bitch nigga saying mayday, and I will spray for the pay day
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| In the worst way like a Maab nigga, for the eight nigga I’ma split a nigga
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| Like a throwed verse, lyrically leaving a nigga in a hearse
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| I’m a thug and a renogator, and a Southside hood waver
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| A 84 block skater, and a bad ass bitch invader
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| We so thoed but solo, united for cash
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| When I’m in my fo'-do' my trunk glow, with S.U.C. |
| on my dash
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| At a club we roam knocks, in the hood we bleed blocks
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| In a car we ride drops, on cock with a missing top
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| Lil' Trae Guerilla Maab, with H-A-W-K
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| From red to blue or grey, my niggas we don’t play
|
| From shining to throwing bows, we platinum on down to gold
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| And living out of control, to keep it crunk fa sho
|
| We gon make, you niggas feel this
|
| Put your hands in the air, and pump your fists
|
| Make you tear the club up everytime, we spit
|
| So listen to this real shit
|
| We gon make, you niggas feel this
|
| Put your hands in the air, and pump your fists
|
| Make you tear the club up everytime, we spit
|
| So listen to this real shit
|
| Abra-cadabra, hocus pocus
|
| Sit back and feel, this explosive dose
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| A lyrical hypnosis, is what I put you in
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| And time and time again, I do damage with a pen
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| A lyrical time bomb, and I’m bound to get you sprung
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| And if you ain’t feeling this, then your body is numb
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| Like Nelly I’m number one, or numero uno
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| The size of a sumo, more vicious than Kujo
|
| More styles than judo, and I got room to throw
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| I’m thugging like Fat Joe, and I’m watching my thoed grow
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| I move in slow-mo, and blowing on do-do
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| On 20's and squatted low, and on locks I tip-toe
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| And for my lil bro, I’ma mash the gas
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| Collect the cash, and move the Benz up another class
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| The greatest like Ali, on the grind like Bun-B
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| And the words that I use, make you say golly
|
| We gon make, you niggas feel this
|
| Put your hands in the air, and pump your fists
|
| Make you tear the club up everytime, we spit
|
| So listen to this real shit
|
| We gon make, you niggas feel this
|
| Put your hands in the air, and pump your fists
|
| Make you tear the club up everytime, we spit
|
| So listen to this real shit |