| I don’t read the XXL
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| Tote a 45 to church, think I’m destined for hell, oh well
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| Blood tears off the face of my Jesus Piece
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| It’s bloodshed, feel the cracks in my city streets
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| I’m from the crack of them city streets
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| Used to sell crack in them city streets, born in Blood nigga
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| In a coma five days, life of a thug nigga
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| Momma ain’t show, grandma almost pulled the plug nigga
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| Used to pull the gun out, just because of cause niggas
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| Five shots to the head cause I’m a Blood nigga
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| Nuttin' brewing but suwoo’ing where the fuck I’m from
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| You lucky if you make it out of Compton, ask Andre Young
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| Smell the scent of dead bodies ridin' down Green Leaf
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| No peace so don’t get caught up with no piece
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| Fuck Fatburger, we cooking that real beef
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| Momma’s mourning they sons, I’m talking real grief
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| Real funerals of them lost Juveniles
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| Trying to be generals, be missing your dinner now, huh
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| Say it’s a blessing when you die in ya sleep
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| Cause the coroner don’t need no sheets, capishe
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| I’m sayin', stop playing, wrap him up in what he lay in
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| Fold a nigga arms, now a caskets what he pray in, Compton streets raised me
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| Can’t tell my grandma nothing bout her baby, you crazy
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| Such you see no evil
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| She gonna knock it at all
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| You want to see tomorrow, you promise not to talk
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| Say we on our way now, I’m a see you again
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| And when they ask you questions, you just answer
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| What happened then?
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| What happened then?
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| I live this life at a pace that anyone can go
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| Know your place and dedicate your role, to the faith that you’ll die alone
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| Trace your steps when I do step in a fire of broken bones
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| And I require my heart’s desire and when I reap what I sew
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| I bought my momma a Benz, my boobie a jag
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| A cut for my dogs with a roof full of glass
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| But still I be feeling like none of my light never casts
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| Out of that black cloud that’s been watered down since my first chopper blast
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| But fuck that, I’m not worried, even when discouraged
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| Skirt off makin' them hurt off I should have hurt them in a hurry
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| Dirt off all under my fingers, dirt all of 'em gon is gone
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| Shirt off when precesure, resuscitation came early
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| I need you to keep quiet as a mouse
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| Which is ironic cause rats is what I’m talking about
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| I’m hearin the sonics of gun fire
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| The whispers, the silent cries even though I know it’s an eye for an eye
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| Such you see no evil
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| She don’t hear nothin at all
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| You want to see tomorrow, you promise not to talk
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| Say we on our way now, I’m a see you again
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| And when they ask you questions, you just answer
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| What happened then?
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| What happened then?
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| I was born a soldier
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| Ride or die for mine
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| Tied two tears and a lawyer
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| Tried to give me love
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| Heaven can you hear me? |
| I know that hell can’t
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| So heaven can you hear me?
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| I’m only just a maaaan… oooooooohhh
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| You want to go to Compton? |
| Nigga I’ll take you there
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| Half City bodies get burnt butt-naked here
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| Respect the code, a nigga’s calling from the pen
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| Colombian neck-ties on the outside from within
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| And then, your momma never see you again
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| Casket to never wake up, plastered in MAC make-up, huh
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| Niggas can’t hear you talking from the sky
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| And only five year olds see your ghost when you die, no lie
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| Karma catches up to all you head honchos
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| 2 Dome shots in that head, Griselda Blanco
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| Shit get real though inside the Foxhills though
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| Nigga living that fast life and get killed slow
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| Ask Wack and Draws if a nigga run the streets
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| My grandmother’s prayers saved you niggas, I never wanted peace.
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| Los Angeles, I’m the motherfucking king here
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| No first 48 cause motherfuckers don’t sing here
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| Such you see no evil
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| She don’t hear nothin at all
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| You want to see tomorrow, you promise not to talk
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| Say we on our way now, I’m a see you again
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| And when they ask you questions, you just answer
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| What happened then?
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| What happened then? |