| Double x, never less baby
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| Twista and Scott Storch in a dropped Porsche
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| That new shit, check it out
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| My neck on bling, cris on chill
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| Standing on the corner steady, trying to make a mill
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| When it come to hustling, got to get it how you live
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| And I’m on the come up, so motherfuck how you feel
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| My fingers on frost, ears on froze
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| Hanging at the club while hoes slide down the pole
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| Rolling with the Gs and the Foes and the Souls
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| With two bitches on my arms, sporting thousand dollar clothes
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| Looking kind of stunning, so the cameras on flick
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| Ain’t no motherfuckers out here that can do it like this
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| On top of my game, and when a hater’s all fall
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| I’mma be smiling, revealing my grill from Paul Wall
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| Shake it for me bitch, let me see you get loose
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| Let me see you sipping on some shit that’s 80 proof
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| Let me see if I’mma let you get up in the 'lac
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| Bend over so I can see how I’mma hit it from the back
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| I hustle wit the rhymes, but I’m better wit the keys
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| And I’m clubbin' wit the pees, I get cheddar wit the fees
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| I’m always on the hustle, so don’t ask why I succeed
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| I got flows, I got dro, I got whatever u need
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| Tires on shine, rims on gloss
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| When it come to mobbing, I’mma motherfucking boss
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| I stay making paper, behind the mic and on the tipping
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| I ain’t stingy wit the dust, the whole crew ride slick
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| Think you shitting on the nigga t, I doubt that
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| My flow will make your booty move, like a house track
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| Have 'em at the party screaming, «Get the doe», «Get the doe»
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| And if I ever go broke, I guarantee to bounce back
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| If beats was like a tipper, then my flow would play the cane
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| Got shit to make you float off the floor, like David Blaine
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| You rich because I spit it universal to the drums
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| And I circle with some guns, blow out purple out my lungs
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| I pimp and fuck a bitch, I don’t need to buy her 'lacs
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| I be on the move, staying paid pushing Cadillacs
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| Investing in my raps, if I don’t make a quarter back
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| I throw eight balls to my homies, on the corners like quarterbacks
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| Let me break your back shawty, show me what u got shawty
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| We some motherfuking killers, Chicago made niggas making figures
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| Teeth on bling, rolly on flick
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| Standing on the stage while I’m holding on my dick
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| Bout to spit a new verse off out the mobstaz new shit
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| Holla walla pop the colla on my new outfit
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| If you want war, you think you got rounds to come get me
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| I think you better go smoke a whole pound of that sticky
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| Keep on talking that you’re not hate around your committee
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| I’mma dodge that nigga that put it down for the city |