| Dead on arrival, swear to God I’mma kill 'em
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| As if I done put my hands on the Bible
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| Get 'em cause I’m liable to rock a motherfucker off
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| Especially if I get my hands on a rifle
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| Do the damn thang, not that they can stop a nigga
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| Pop a nigga off as if you were champagne
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| Put 'em in the ambulance but ain’t no resuscitation
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| Cause he done got knocked off, point-blank range
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| It’s a crisis the way niggas will pull up and shoot
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| Last week, the streets just put him in a coupe
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| This week, the streets just put him in a suit
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| Six feet under with dirt on top of the roof
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| Put 'em in a grave, people standin' over your body
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| And they wonderin' if your soul’ll be saved
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| Or if it has risen or if it will be forbidden, by the way
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| You was doin' shit, they could’ve put you in prison
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| Now you ain’t with the livin'
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| Cause you weren’t a shooter or didn’t know how to shoot
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| Either way feel inferior, I make the block cripple
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| Comin' like a moshpit’ll be the nigga knowin' if we
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| Bustin' Glocks, it’ll put you up in a hospital
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| And when you on the way
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| And they get a look at the way that the bullets spray
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| Everybody about to know, that we don’t play
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| Makin' sure that your body arrive D.O.A
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| Or dead on arrival…
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| Dead on arrival, soul all up on the block
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| I put some shots up in the head of a rival
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| Gun up on the passenger side of the vehicle, he hit you
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| With the artillery simply cause he didn’t like you
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| Should’ve knew not to piss him off
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| Catch a disease of a gun cause it’ll cough
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| Better watch your mouth if you see some grown folks
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| About higher pedigree, especially if it be a boss
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| These lil' niggas ain’t playin'
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| Soon as you come up and start talkin' shit, then they sprayin'
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| Soon as they see the nigga hit, then they ran
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| Straight got ghost, they don’t wanna a nigga
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| That comin' at 'em ambitiously with the toast
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| Point-blank range if you let 'em too close
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| Scene of a homicide, body was lookin' gross
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| Prob’ly off with your head, if him in the scene
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| Was comin' to the war cryin' soft like
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| And this ain’t no Walking Dead, they get rid of you
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| If they dumped a body and a white chump might talk
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| No talkin' to the Feds, they hit 'em fast
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| Try to retaliate, but they gon' get his ass
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| And they ain’t gon' be able to revive him in the ambulance
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| They just gon' pick him up and zip him in a bag
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| Dead on arrival |