| You can’t get your motherfucking weight up
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| So you keep your hate up, (straight up)
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| We gon' show you how it’s done man
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| King of the Ghetto and Corleone
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| Screwed up click for life nigga, real talk
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| Fuck you ol' punk ass, strong enough for a man made ass niggas
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| I’m a south side nigga, third ward to be exact
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| Catch me coming down the boulevard, banging Fat Pat
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| You looking at an American gangsta in the flesh
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| Broke bread with true G’s, and fronted a few ki’s
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| Moved out to Cali, graduated to P-T's
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| O.G. |
| granddaddy, I’m so fooling
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| Tell the truth, DJ Screw made me
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| Without him, ya’ll wouldn’t know Mike D
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| I was just lil' Mike, Bam had a hogg in training
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| Running cars in breeze ways, all day standing
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| While ya’ll had, ya’ll hoes on your mind
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| I was posted by the labor pool, rocking for rocking them nines
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| Before and after school, making it pop
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| Yeah a nigga dropped out, but graduated to blocks
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| Had a dream, by twenty-one I’d be a millionaire
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| Few bumps in the road, I’m almost there
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| Either you real, or you fake
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| Cause real niggas don’t fold, don’t bend or break
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| We just trying to get our cash on nigga
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| And if you disrespect, we’ll get our blast on nigga
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| I’m a quiet nigga, but I’ve got a competitive nature
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| Balling out of control, like number eight from the Lakers
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| I’m Kobe, ain’t no other King of the Ghetto I’m the one and only
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| I bet all your nieces and nephews, and cousins know me
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| I rise above the competition, cause they’re so below me
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| Kinda like what a Geneva watch, is to a Rolly
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| And I know King Johnny, the real King Johnny
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| Those diamonds are not shining homie, you’ve never seen Johnny
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| Screwed Up Click, soldiers united for cash
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| We legal now, so it ain’t no mo' circles in the stash
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| Or circles in the door panel, or circles in the dash
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| Well piss me off and I’ll merk you, now you part of the past
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| Cause I’m an asshole, by nature
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| And I don’t love my bitch, I love my paper
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| And you ain’t shit, if you ain’t never been screwed up
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| But you gon' take a nasty punch, if I lace my shoes up
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| Either you real, or you fake
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| 'Cause real niggas don’t fold, don’t bend or break
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| We just trying to get our cash on nigga
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| And if you disrespect, we’ll get our blast on nigga
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| First off nigga, you not my kind
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| Must be deaf dumb and blind, I got blood on mine
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| Me and Ro ain’t now playing, skip nan' state
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| Slaved over nan' pot, to take a bite off my plate
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| Ro, I don’t know what the hell wrong with these young niggas
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| Got a thousand drug habits, want me to front em jiggas
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| Say you’re a man, try buying your own
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| So you can quit the silly games, like not answering your phone nigga
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| When you been the King of the Ghetto, fucking with a bitch
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| Know I’ve been trying to make chicken salad, out of chicken shit
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| Just trying to hit another lick
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| And I hope a snitch ain’t there to witness it
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| I’d rather slit my wrists fucking going to jail
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| Where somebody can watch me shit
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| Yes I’m in love with my freedom
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| But I take penitentiary chances just to make sure
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| I never return to wrongest circumstances
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| That’s the reason, I’m trying to get my cash on nigga
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| Might even come visit you, with my másk on nigga give it up
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| Either you real, or you fake
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| 'Cause real niggas don’t fold, don’t bend or break
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| We just trying to get our cash on nigga
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| And if you disrespect, we’ll get our blast on nigga
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| And there you have it, Screwed Up Click for life
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| And I ain’t fooling, Z-Ro the Crooked
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| A.K.A. |
| King of the Ghetto, Mike D A.K.A. |
| the Black Osama
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| It’s really going down, Screwed Up Click real talk
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| All my Crip mo’fuckers, throw your sets up
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| All my Blood mo’fuckers, throw your sets up
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| All my four mo’fuckers, throw your sets up
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| All my brown pride niggas, throw your sets up
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| All my Mo City niggas, throw your sets up
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| All my third ward niggas, throw your sets up
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| All my sunny side niggas, throw your sets up
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| All my Hiram-Clarke niggas, throw your sets up
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| All my south-north niggas, throw your sets up
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| All my worldwide niggas, ha |