| Awww yeah, yeah, yo
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| Young Mess struck the Mac and his lights went out
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| Then I knocked all the ice out his mouth
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| Check it out, one to the face, two to the neck
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| Hit the liquor sto', then went back to the 'jects
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| The fiends get credit, them hoes post up
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| The police patrol, feds take close ups
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| The block stay hot, it’s work outside
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| Don’t ride through stuntin, cause you niggas might die
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| When the sun go down, them wolves come out
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| Say the wrong shit I put the heater in yo' mouth
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| Them boys sit on Tuesday, the money come fast
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| I’m on the block with like, 50−11 rocks in my ass, be cool
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| When the sun goes down, the wolves come out
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| The guns been outside, and we don’t have droughts
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| The fiends get credit, them hoes post up
|
| The police patrol, feds take close ups
|
| When the sun goes down, the wolves come out
|
| The guns been outside, and we don’t have droughts
|
| The fiends get credit, the hoes post up
|
| The police patrol, feds take close ups
|
| Night time is the right time to use that K
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| Two-two-threes ain’t cool they abuse yo' face
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| I’m a stand up guy, I don’t sit down
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| Killers don’t talk, they break up crowds
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| Eleven to six, have yo' pumpkin covered
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| Your family won’t love it when you turn up smothered
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| I give day away, on lay away
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| My shit so pure they can’t stay away
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| Plates with the groove it be tearin your nose up
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| Blades so sharp they be tearin they toes up
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| Put ten on yo' helmet, Niner or Raider
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| Bronco or Charger, we will deflate ya
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| Yeah, man fuck that Remi, bitch I’m on Gin
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| The O.G.'s say I’m on my way to the pen'
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| I don’t give a fuck, its rocks in my low
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| The stones in my mouth keep my Metro froze
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| Fillmoe nigga, the belly of the beast
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| They love me out in Oakland from the Bottoms to the East
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| Some claim they thuggin, but they stay out clubbin
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| We outside waitin, got security duckin
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| Bullets fly past ya, hittin bystanders
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| Bout that gossip, you can die over slander
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| Jumpin out the Phantom, doors suicide
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| Gangsta’s inside, and we don’t coincide |