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[Chorus: Fat Pat] |
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Wanna be a -- baller, shot caller |
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Twenty inch blades -- on the Impala |
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A caller gettin laid tonight |
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Swisher rolled tight, gotta sprayed by Ike |
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I hit the HIIIGHWAY, making money the FLYYYY WAY |
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But there's got to be a BETT-ER WAYY! |
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A better way, better way, YEAH-AHHHH |
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[Yungstar] |
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I'ma -- baller, I'ma twenty inch crawler |
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Blades on Impala, diamond rottweiller |
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I-10 hauler, not a leader not follower |
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Break these boys off I'ma twenty inch crawler |
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Bust a left, a right, I'm outta sight I'm throwed |
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I'm bouncin off the road I'm in a modem with them foe dem |
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Tiny tune -- hop out my big body form |
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Chain with the chong, can't forget Moet along |
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I'm hot, find me lookin good, diamonds against my wood |
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Man it's understood -- got money in my hood |
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I'm pushing big body can't stop me |
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For the nine-eight got to sell a million copy |
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I'ma crawl slow puffin on the Optimo hit the sto' |
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I'ma go real slow -- puffin indo out the do' |
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I'ma lit the stash green, man I'm lookin clean |
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Want remote control screens with ice bezeltynes |
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[Chorus] |
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[Fat Pat] |
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Big ballin, smashin, makin my ends |
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Smokin big killa gettin high in the Benz |
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Big ballin, smashin, makin my ends |
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Smokin big killa gettin high in the Benz |
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In the wind smoke goes as I crawl down on Vogues |
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Twenty Lorenzo, smoke all up in my nose |
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Yo' eyes, get froze, as you see my low |
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Candy-red, two-do', let my top down slow |
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Hittin, my remote, sittin, in my shit |
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Presidential V-12 with that AMG kit |
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It don't quit, as I get high |
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from K.C. to H-Town, connectin SouthSide |
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Now we worldwide, watch me highside |
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Fat Pat blowin killa, can't be denied |
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187 thugs, oh yeah we got love |
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Blowin sticky green we flow through and above |
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[Chorus] |
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[Lil' Will] |
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Sittin' Fat Down South, rollin Benz on blocks |
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Mo' scrilla I got, signin with Shortstop |
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And that's for real, so tell me how you feel |
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to make a million dollars out my first record deal |
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Shortstop -- puttin up your motherfuckin ear |
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Really really don't give a fuck and I ain't drinkin on no beer |
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Codeine what I sip, pistol grip when I ride |
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Trunk hit fo' life baby it's SouthSide |
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We on a fuckin mission Expedition Navigator |
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That's how we be ridin, alligator suitcasin |
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Puttin it in your face, and that's for real |
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Shinin harder than the grill it's the player Lil' Will |
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Down with the 2-Low, Yungstar be a thug |
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So nigga nigga what? I'm down with Mo'Thugs |
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Mo'Thugs an' da Bone, you know it's goin down |
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Represent that H-Town, pop trunks surround by sound |
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[Chorus] |
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[Yungstar] |
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I gots to get better man, it gots to move on |
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Switched from Motorola to a PrimeCo phone |
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Broke in two chrome, now you know no dope pigeon |
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Used to count my spoke, now these hoes count my inches |
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Had to get older -- man it got colder |
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I done got grown and got a chip on my shoulder |
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Licks in Kuwait, got links in Pakistan |
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Boys don't understand virtual reality Caravan |
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Double doors marble floors naked hoes around me |
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Everytime I'm comin out, niggaz they wanna sign me |
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Got the Lil' Will diamond grillers ?? |
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Blaze in the Benz and you can't forget Den-Den |
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Boobie diamond Ruby's, I'm watchin on a movie |
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Drop the top it's cotton, and you know I'm in a jacuzzi |
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Bourban and I'm swervin, man it's gettin hot |
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My last name Lemmon, drive my tight'um off the lot, David Taylor |
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[Chorus] |
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[Hawk] |
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I hit the highway |
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Everything's my way, I par-le |
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Everyday all day, ain't no way |
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Boys can't stop as i slide through your neighborhood |
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Chop chop chop, headed straight to the top |
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I only play to win -- bout to close up shop |
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Showstoppin dead end, pimp the pen once again |
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Peep the message I send |
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Take these levels that you devils can't comprehend |
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Big bout it Benz -- as I floss through the south |
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Big blue lens -- now whatcha talkin about? |
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Close yo' mouth -- as I settle all scores |
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Scream and shout -- my similes and metaphors |
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Mansion doors -- I contstantly close |
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All you hoes -- go and take off your clothes |
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Lord knows -- ain't no time to play |
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Commence to fuckin and-a suckin on the H.A.W.K. |