| Them niggas selling to them undercovers
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| That’s uncool like your mother’s brother
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| Make my bitches touch each other
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| My niggas caught cases, all we known for pie shaving
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| All my plugs is Caucasian, smoke until my eyes Asian
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| Send a batch of beats, I send you back a masterpiece
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| Might buy a chain that look like it was made for Master P
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| I’m in the dojo where the masters meet, talk is cheap
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| Whispers in the congregation, watch the pastor preach
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| Been a problem, now I’m more focused
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| That Maserati pull up, make your Bimmer look like it’s a Ford Focus
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| In the retail, hard to explain the details
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| Thousand-dollar deposit sitting on dope and emails
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| Tim Allen, how kids gripping tools
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| Different 12 like I’m in Air Maxes, I get up out my Yeezy Boosts
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| My Watanabe circa Season 2
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| Muhammad with the stick and move, the Godbody only speak the truth
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| I’m popping like Polo tags in '98
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| Six shipments, six addresses, I charge 'em to the game
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| Double-cup sipping, paint dripping off the Caddy frame
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| Two-tone whip change colors, I call it Charlamagne
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| Kill for your brothers, if they do the same
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| Switch cities, switch phone numbers, but we move the same
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| Switch bitches, switch locations, and watch these niggas change
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| There is not a stain on my Forces, but it’s a dirty game
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| Yeah, and the nerve of you motherfuckers
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| The nerve of you motherfuckers think that you can touch me
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| Your ass ain’t fast enough to touch me
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| The one and only, ha
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| Godbody
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| And it’s gon' go down
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| And when it goes down, everybody just gon' be looking
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| Standing there, looking around
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| Standing there, looking at each other
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| Tryna figure out who did it
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| Don’t nobody know who did it
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| Don’t nobody know who did it
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| All they know is what happened (Ugh, yeah)
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| GODBODY!
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| You niggas selling to them plain clotheses
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| While I play the corner, chain-smoking
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| Booming out they veins and noses
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| I’m paper-stacking 'til the winter’s over
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| Trying to pull up in that Cherry Rover, seats the color baking soda
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| Wood grain resemble shaken soda
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| Apply the pressure to the next or opposition when my paces over
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| Snotty tissues with that Ray Liotta
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| You paper soldiers couldn’t take a step inside these Purple Label loafers
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| I’m popping like Gucci buckets and white tees
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| Six shipments, six addresses, I paid the shipping fees
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| Double-cup, sipping lean, dripping off a Swisher Sweet
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| Two-tone, yellow and rosegold like Mr. T
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| I’m good with that yay like Mike Dean
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| Killers turn police for that break like Ice-T
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| Desperate niggas turn on they own people—Spike Lee
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| Shivers when he preach, the Godbody got the truth to speak |