| Tie 'em to my bumper, drug 'em, fuck 'em
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| I don’t love 'em, I don’t love 'em
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| Put 'em in a hoe spot, take me to the stash pot
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| I click so quick, my spells are slick
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| So watch yo fuckin' self hoe
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| That Gl-izz-ock will rock yo cradle fatal
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| Mystic on yo ass low
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| The one-eighty-seven, niggas that’s sellin'
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| Dwellin' on the black side
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| The black side of Haven, never mistaken
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| All day long it’s homicides
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| I fear not a bitch, I leave her with shit
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| Just fuck 'em, a playa is in me hoe
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| I do not be dwellin' on silly ass bustas
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| But deny you d-izz-on't h-izz-ear me though
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| The Triple Six click, the Mafia bitch
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| Is comin' out runnin' so shut yo mouth
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| You just so fucked up in the head cause you’re mad
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| And just really don’t know what you talkin' 'bout
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| You stupid ass bitch you just put yourself in a bad place
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| The Jason mask I will clamp place on my face
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| The D-izz-evils Daughter G-Gangster B-izz-oo
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| Is most definitely mentally de-fucking-deranged
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| I thought you knew that I’m from Memphis
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| You better just listen so you can like dig what I peep
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| If you be violatin' pimpin'
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| Your ass will be slippin' into the eternal sl-izz-eep
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| On my mind be murder-murder
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| I’m urgin' to serve a busta that is flexing his shit
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| Never underestimate the ones that be like quiet
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| Cause they be the ones that’ll click
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| Niggas be talking that shit
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| I just have to show 'em that t-izz-alk is so fuckin' cheap
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| Talkin' is all that you doin'
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| You don’t wanna rumble cause you know the Three 6 is deep
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| Tie 'em to my bumper, drug 'em, fuck 'em
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| I don’t love 'em, I don’t love 'em
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| Put 'em in a hoe spot, take me to the stash pot
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| I’m stickin' out with my pimpin', still it’s all about makin' that cheese
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| Puttin' in work, payin' major mad dues, smokin' and chokin' on light green leafs
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| Hangin' with thiefs and pimps, my hookers they bringin' my trap
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| Scandalous trick and if you want the room gimme the money cause I don’t cap,
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| I’m Skinny
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| Skinny murder for pennies, haters can’t stand me, so they aggravate my money,
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| more funerals every day
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| Placin' them hits so slick, smilin' at yo face
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| (?) keepin' my stable tight, countin' my thousands day and night
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| No matter (?) comes, one-eighty-seven ways to get paid, taking yo life
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| Dirty plots, dirty hoes, layin' fools down
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| North Memphis bound, Funky Town found
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| Dunkin' on Crown in the shake junt lounge
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| Women get naked while the Skinny smoke pounds
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| Yeah we still scopin', my pretty-boy-smile ain’t jokin'
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| Drop it off! |
| Drop it off!
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| Takin' that dope and fillin' up coffins
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| Hangin' deep down in them ghetto streets
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| When we creep you know we out for murder
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| Murkin' that’s stable (?) I was capable
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| Break a trick, we don’t fuck up
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| Put 'em in the backseat, onion in my brain
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| Glock cocked, drop the top, poppin' up the whole block
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| Non-stop for my mob, that’s my job when we rob yo stash pot
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| Tie 'em to my bumper, drug 'em, fuck 'em
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| I don’t love 'em, I don’t love 'em
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| Put 'em in a hoe spot, take me to the stash pot
|
| Six thousand shots of a sawed-off
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| Buckshot knock a niggas crest
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| A bitch done step to this mass (?) for this criminal
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| Soul is callin' up demonic sounds
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| … possessed in my mind for a killin'
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| (?) creepin' for satan
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| Replacin' the gauges with guts in my trunk
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| … rough Koopsta
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| Nigga with that murder in his mug
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| Most of the times bitch I’m showin' no love
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| For you try to run, but you cannot hide
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| … door
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| … you in hell man
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| And the end of eternity … Koopsta be holdin' the sinister table
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| … scripts … horrors of (?)
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| … turned in motherfuckin' torture
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| … this is the (?) what they came up
|
| For Koopsta the master of illusions
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| Filled with the mind of intrusions
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| Through your hood I be lurkin' and cruisin'
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| Fiendin' to put on a bruisin'
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| Removin' the slug from your wounds and guts
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| (?) cause I’m showin' no love
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| … waitin' for satan
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| Tie 'em to my bumper, drug 'em, fuck 'em
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| I don’t love 'em, I don’t love 'em
|
| Put 'em in a hoe spot, take me to the stash pot |