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zuò qǔ : Brito, Byrd |
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40 Cal. |
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40! |
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Ok J. R. |
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It' s like memorable moments again |
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Ya dig, dipset |
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I mean... so much fuckin cake in the buildin so much cake in the buildin |
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Ya' ll wouldn' t believe man |
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That' s why my niggas got pies and shit |
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Enough of all that |
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Verse 1 |
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40 Cal. |
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Uh, you see my money like a baggel shop |
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Why i make the powder blow |
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First i get papi bread, then i make sour dough |
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You still pumpa nickel? move every hour slow |
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My work' s so powerful, yo money ours bro |
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It' s no baggel jokes, but for butter i be raisin toast |
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Like a bread truck, i keep the latest loafs |
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I serve beef, grab pounds and squeeze |
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I' m sick with the 40., call it mad cow disease |
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My niggas get down for cheese, and felony wraps |
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Ya' ll niggas hamsters, really cant tell if they rats |
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But, you call a turtle when the shell in they back |
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I play eight ball for menace i can help you with that |
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Then im, back to melt the track, soon as the vanilla crack |
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Twodoor, NSX thats a selfish act |
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Mack to ya pelvis black, i' ll put you where Elvis at |
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Walkin pawn shop when i take ya chain and sell it back, crack. |
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chorus |
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J. R. Writer |
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It' s the Dip... dip, dip, dip, dip, dip, dipset |
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You guys are not a threat, pay homage to the best nigga |
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Dip... dip, dip, dip, dip, dip, dipset |
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We got the streets owned, you can not compete homes |
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It' s the Dip... dip, dip, dip, dip, dip, dipset |
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Any problems its a wrap, we put Harlem on the map yes |
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Dip... dip, dip, dip, dip, dip, dipset |
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You now rockin with the best, pay homage to the set |
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Verse 2 |
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J. R. Writer |
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Ok, im ready, Uh |
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Listen i' m bout flippin', but if the slouch trippin |
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I' ll put some scratch on his head like his scalp ithchin' |
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Dig it J. R. is hot, whippin the car is drop |
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Barbies watch, the dealer admit it i' m hard to top |
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Hater i' m back, face it you wack, J. R. is crack |
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The same thing they place in a pack, I stay in the trap |
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So no you wont hear 808 when i put some damn base on the track |
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I bring the fiends out, give them niggas what they need |
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I dont see droughts, it is figures what i see |
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Bring them keys out, to the middle of the p' s |
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No matter the temperature degree |
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Rain, sleet, snow, i' m pitchin them for sheeze' |
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Pure bricks, you' ll have to go to Switzerland for these |
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I get em often breeze |
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Its easy to the beast |
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You should bow down the next time you see me in the streets. |
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chorus |
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J. R. Writer |
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It' s the Dip... dip, dip, dip, dip, dip, dipset |
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You guys are not a threat, pay homage to the best nigga |
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Dip... dip, dip, dip, dip, dip, dipset |
|
We got the streets owned, you can not compete homes |
|
It' s the Dip... dip, dip, dip, dip, dip, dipset |
|
Any problems its a wrap, we put Harlem on the map yes |
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Dip... dip, dip, dip, dip, dip, dipset |
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You now rockin with the best, pay homage to the set |