| Flow when I’m set, I got the chips to make a Lotus my whip
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| Gold on my neck was once a code of respect
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| For high rollers and vets
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| Now it’s loads of baguettes
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| Prefer a Mac-10 over a Tec
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| No matter sober or wet, I smack soldier cadets
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| Trees that might eject my hype back
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| Famous phrase «Nigga, light that»
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| Hoes you fuck ask you: 'Where your ice at, dunn?'
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| It’s all about Playboys when we was young
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| Could only get tongue, then finally we could cum
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| Busting in hoes, guzzling 4's
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| Crack blitz, '86, you turn hustling pro
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| From bottles, to seven in your hand
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| To fake Pepsi’s, to get to the crack, unscrew the can
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| Gleam blunted, seeing 100's, stacks of boy with a lean on it
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| We got it if the fiends want it
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| The whole block singing the same theme «Don it»
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| Fuck it, too many crabs in the bucket
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| If it’s ice work, I’m gon' truck it
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| You gotta love it, you gotta love it
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| (It's what they want) Fuck it, you gotta love it
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| (It's what they want, huh? It’s what they want)
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| Fuck it, you gotta love it
|
| (It's what they want, huh?) Fuck it, you gotta love it
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| Some girls get too emotional, fanatic extremist
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| Compulsive, with malice incentives, the foulest of bitches
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| Hunger my riches, her childish wishes
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| Be suspicious of those sleeping with fishes, them hoes
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| Conspicuous and it shows, tricking this dough
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| Kicking this flow, slip and you fold
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| So when your clique roll, I let my clips go
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| Niggas on opposite poles
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| I got that confident soul, for those locked in a hole
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| Inhumane, living hostile opposed
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| To living on the street, proper from my top to my toes
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| Aeropostale my clothes, Vernon niggas in Suburbans with liquor
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| Preposterous foes, finicky foul niggas
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| See niggas and blacks, there goes a loud difference
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| Coke sniffing, tapping 13-year-old chickens
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| You can’t be a kingpin when you snitching
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| Regardless, we still make you a target
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| We shoot you in jail, chrome objects
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| Hit you in your own projects, it’s street-onomics
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| This rhyme is edited, credited through ebonics
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| Miserable cats, hunger paining
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| Get off your ass, stop complaining
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| My crew be in Montego Bay Macarena-ing
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| Marinating, while you home, waiting your arraignment
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| This thug life you claimed it, I make millions from entertainment
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| Now back in the hood, certain cats, they wanna kill me
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| They ice grill me, but on the low, niggas feel me
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| You gotta love it
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| Fuck it, you gotta love it (It's what they want, huh?)
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| Fuck it, you gotta love it (It's what they want)
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| Fuck it, you gotta love it (It's what they want, huh?)
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| (It's what they want… it's what they want) |