| If I ain’t drunk now, I’m finna be
|
| I’m full of the Remy, ready to engage the enemy
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| Push the extremity, hear me, and don’t let up
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| Use his bitch to set up, and then wet up
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| Nigga, shut up, you ain’t got my mail yet
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| Get hit with the Kel-Tec, with the shell-catch
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| My bitch mail-fetch, sell sex, she rich
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| I check ill traps and will slap the bitch
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| So cold, my little niggas from the North Pole
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| Put ya in a chokehold and shoot up your Ford Probe
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| Apply force, we a mobile strike force
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| Put 365 horse in a tight Porsche
|
| When my source gives me the coordinates
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| I sic 'em, get 'em, hit 'em with the pair of ordnance
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| You insubordinates get the cutthroat guillotine
|
| Ya-da-dickmean? |
| Nigga, this the killa team
|
| They on it, they want it, these niggas ask for it
|
| They on it, they want it, these niggas ask for it
|
| They on it, they want it, these niggas ask for it
|
| They on it, they want it, these niggas ask for it
|
| — Talk to the hand 'cause the face don’t wanna hear it anymore
|
| — What hand? |
| Talk to your hand?
|
| — You ain’t all that and a bag of potato chips
|
| — What are you talking about?
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| — Don't go there, girlfriend, mhm
|
| — Whose girlfriend?
|
| — Don't mess with me, I’m one crazy mofo. |
| I had to pop a cop 'cause he wouldn’t
|
| give me props in Oaktown. |
| No? |
| I heard that somewhere |