| Yeah, uh, mm, give it to me
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| Mmmmm, yeah
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| Yeah yeah
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| Mm, no no no no
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| Seems like every night, right before I go to sleep
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| I say a little prayer to the Lord that he keep me
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| I used to be the kind of nigga that didn’t give a fuck about nobody
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| The slightest little thing would make me mad
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| Especially if it involved my money
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| And I can’t tell you 'bout the next man
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| But I love pullin' up in big sedans
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| Wit all my niggas in a caravan
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| Holla if ya hear me
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| Now I’d love to break ya, bring ya down
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| And take you back again
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| But that would take too much time
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| And I gotta hit the streets again
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| 1 — And even if the sun don’t shine, I’ll still be hustlin'
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| Gotta get that money, make that money
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| Keep it comin', if it takes all night, can’t be strugglin'
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| Somebody come help me
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| Can ya tell me why is slangin' always on my mind?
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| Must be buggin'
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| I guess they figured I would quit and they could get me
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| If they tapped my line
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| Don’t mean nothin'
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| I’ll still be hustlin'
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| Now I hate to be the one to tell ya, but I don’t mind
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| Niggas can hate if they want to
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| And I’m still gon' get mine
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| Yes, I still be ridin' in a SC on dubs
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| And I won’t be seen at none of the clubs
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| And uh, all your women would know who I was
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| (And that you wouldn’t like) And that you wouldn’t like
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| If everybody kept they mind on gettin' they skrilla
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| Won’t be no time to fuck with mine, so won’t be no killin'
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| I’ll just sit back and recline, smoke this Philly
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| And keep my fingers laced with diamonds like Big Willie
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| But for now, catch me on Compton Avenue
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| With a handful of hundreds and a strap or two
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| Puttin' it down for my niggas like they told me to
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| You need some candy, so won’t you come thru
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| Sometimes I’m suited up
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| Sometimes I’m bummy, lookin' like a crook
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| Hair all nappy and wild — we call it the full nuk
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| Mashin', mobbin' and thrashin'
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| Woopers, horns and tweeters blastin'
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| Throbbin', hoggin' and doggin'
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| Godzilla ballin'
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| When it’s money callin'? |
| War-rank
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| Just ride your runners fool
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| Be 'bout your bank
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| Sittin' fat like?
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| All about my money, duffle bags full of scratch
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| Artillery fire arms and gats
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| Reading my mail, countin my feddy, gettin my bread
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| Elroy’s on my tail, I’m tryin' to prevail but, they want me dead
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| Cuz I made it out the game without a clue or trace
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| Used to sell that bass
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| Rock cavvy candy, ???
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| Never had to stop, enemies on the block, they knew it (they knew it)
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| As far as I was concerned,? |
| man I do it
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| Check it out
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| Money schemin'
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| Prince Albert, Chocolate Philly, Glocks Garcia Vegas
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| Black and Miles on the pack again (yes)
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| What you know about that?
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| TQ and E-40 Fonzarelli a.k.a. Charlie Hustle, easy
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| Biotch!!! |