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[Intro:] |
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Riding, yah |
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Real shit |
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(correct) |
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[Hook:] |
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I love to be free |
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[Verse 1:] |
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Breaking the half in the kitchen closet |
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Baking soda by the water faucet |
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Pot and spoon on the stove [?] |
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This the ish that make a soul fly (I love to be free) |
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Naked women counting money on the sofa |
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Tony Montana, bunch of coke boys, all adolescent, fly dressing |
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All gold boys, get you everything from an eight ball to a home boy |
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Hit the street, Chevy riding like a Rolls-Royce |
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Roll joints and bump Geto Boys |
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Twisting fingers, throw bankers out the window it's like we sense some danger |
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I ain't fly by this fall, let you meet your maker |
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Skinny nigga but I got my weight up, ten large in each pocket nigga who can hate us |
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Beat a nigga out his pockets if you try and play us |
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Trigger chick on this strip we some effin' playas |
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Bank rolls, bank ain't never closed, nigga, pay up |
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[Hook x4] |
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[Interlude:] |
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I really just wanna be free man |
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[Verse 2:] |
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Five deep in the hatchback |
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Cockin' straps tryna find out where the cash at |
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Lurkin', hoodie down and a black mask |
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Eight shots, twelve gauge wrapped in black flags |
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To cool the pipes when the shell blasts |
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Miss a nigga on that corner then we pill back |
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To finish the job, dome shots, send him to God |
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Ever stare a dead man in the face while you finish to rob |
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Blood leak and body cold, eyes looking beyond |
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While you're snatching out his gold, take his money then run |
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And your conscience eating you like 'damn that's somebody's son' |
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But you're stomach aching you can't keep scraping these crumbs |
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And it's do or die and I'ma ride till no breathe in these lungs |
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[?] Playing sweet song, bust back, if the heat come |
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Play your enemies close, but never ever sleep with 'em |
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Advice for flashy hustlers with jack boys peepin' 'em |
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If you ever see that hatchback, nigga you better squeeze on 'em |
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[Hook x4] |