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(Chorus) |
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you want me to cross the border? |
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well come on baby |
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you want me to cross the border? |
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well come on baby |
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(Boobonic) |
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They call me A.J., A.K.A. Ant Jones |
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and aye, the AK tear bones, Homes |
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seldomely ever talk over cell phones |
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or chase dudes, I choke 'em like bass tubes |
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every whip, every bitch, every leather coat |
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since '88 to right now I was never broke |
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back then I was V'd up |
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with a nut cup, problem with the price nigga? see Buck |
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never waitin' in line nigga, I bump |
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pay everybody shit just to get to the front |
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young, did I mention Twenty One? |
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with more houses that sell than Century Twenty One |
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cops respect 'cause they know we big |
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and ain't lock us up for bodies that they know we did |
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that M shit clean you out like ammonia |
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imagine '89 ****in' Appolonia. |
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(Clipse) |
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Last name Robinson, first name Stacy |
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I was gettin' Cagney high and gettin' head from Lacy |
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'88 graffiti, chicks was still masin' |
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I was a Millionaire when Rick James was freebasin' |
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I paved the way, showed ballers how to ride today |
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I chopped the roof off my ride that day |
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imagine all the hate I made? |
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used to have to pull my sun visor down for shade on cloudy days |
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they would shoot up my cars |
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I would just slide back through with new rims and a paint job |
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flamboyant like a gold One-Ninety |
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with a side panel reading, I want you to find me |
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c'mon, I sold that Night Rider, and it came with a Kit |
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when you put the shit in the needle and hit it, that was it |
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Ron..ahem...Heroin, excuse me ya'll |
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I'm from Virginia where the Southern draw |
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don't mind me... |
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(Mr. Mister) |
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See, it's lil' Bucky, my jewels? husky |
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connects like broads |