| There they go, there they go, there they go,
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| It’s muthaf**k em' cuz they don’t want peace
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| There they go, there they go, there they go, there they go
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| Sick of running from the punk police
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| There they go, there they go, there they go,
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| It’s muthaf**k em' cuz they don’t want peace
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| There they go, there they go, there they go,
|
| Sick of running from the punk police
|
| There they go, there they go, there they go,
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| It’s muthaf**k em' cuz they don’t want peace
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| There they go, there they go, there they go,
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| Sick of running from the punk police
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| My middle finger to the law
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| Well niggas they love that
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| The whole reason they brutality forced me to bust back
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| I was brought up in the part of the city where thugs at
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| Where the pimpin and prostitutes and thieven and drugs at
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| Where the average little nigga goes to jail before he’s twelve years old
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| On the corner as long as the beer’s cold
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| Siz do', muthaf**kas got half of my kin-folks
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| Generations of ghetto children that really been broke (yeah)
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| Get up, get up, wake up and get paid
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| 9−1-1 been a joke since Flava Flav
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| I’ma take a chance as long as the rent due
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| f**k callin Mr. Wealth and mamma got issues
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| The system was designed to set-up and twist you
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| You gotta get on the level to know what I’ve been through
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| And to, be aware of the evil that men do
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| Niggas snitchin' all the time and try’n to befriend you
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| I keep my mouth shut tight and my eyes wide open
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| Dirty as a rida', I’m try’na stay focused
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| I ain’t choose the game, man, the game chose me
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| Why you always f**kin' with me Mr. Punk Police
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| Wanna have a nigga sleepin in a 6 by 9
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| Try’na catch a nigga creepin, you can get my 9
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| Get deez nuts, put the badge and the gun down
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| Muthaf**k the government, blast when they come round
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| Ever since I was a feelin' nigga in and wit my dogs
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| I was taught that you never hire a gun for the law
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| So I really f**ked the cop car, dodge and the charge
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| And I’m try’na not get caught if lots of time is involved
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| It’s a war with the minorities and da help authorities
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| So real, that I bet this be considered any nigga poetry
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| Bred from some of the coldest streets,
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| And I seen niggas shot dead by some old police
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| Them bitches don’t want peace
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| They ridin' through the ghetto poppin they metal and po-fo
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| And they wonder why niggas don’t get along with the po-po
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| f**k him mayne, then toss a doughnut to his grave
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| We gon show him how to play
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| Whats your name, where you stay
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| Mr. Officer, could you tell me why you pulled us over
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| And please get them bright lights up off of us
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| I ain’t done nuttin' wrong, I was just ridin' mindin' my own
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| And why you harrassin' my passenger, we try’na go home (god damn)
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| Don’t you have some f**kin killas to catch
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| Some real deal criminals to arrest
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| A drug dealaz to sweat
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| I wun’t doin that you suvive in 5 blocks
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| And when my life’s a blazin uh, I’m so tired of ya’ll cops
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| Harrasin me, flashin the big guess and askin me
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| All kind of silly bullshit they actually
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| Lookin for reasons they can tell the captain they blastin me
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| Po-Po is the only muthaf**kas we hate drastically |