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Nowhere to, nowhere to, nowhere to, nowhere to |
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[Chorus: x2] |
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Nowhere to run cause they got guns and they were gonna get'cha |
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For stackin ones and stashin funds as we build and get richer |
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Switchin your plans, hit your man hidin behind a picture |
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Won't ever slip up, end up zipped up or swervin on scriptures |
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[Akir:] |
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Fresh out the 'tainment on the pavement made in our arraignment |
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Heinous in places where the darkest spaces rot in wastes |
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He needs some paper, have an eighth, I think it's like the eighth bust |
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The past G's nasty, gotta get his weight up |
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They took his Gators, and cash from the last caper |
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Hittin his ace who pulled a card at that last playa |
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Not at his place, he probably out to the Himalayas |
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For some Now'n'Laters, Lifesavers, newspaper |
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Told the owner, solo homer broke, see him later |
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And when he dashed off, thanks for the favor neighbor |
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Thug behavior, grab a Kodak in a scratch off |
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And seen his man with the stove like the gnats off |
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Whattup playboy, I need that fifty |
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Here you go, niggaz down the road got that sticky |
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Yo I know you can't smoke but come throw dice with me |
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Fuck around and got lucky, G made 250 |
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Homecomin, nigga felt like John Gotti |
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Dapped up everybody, hit the corner store, copped him some Bacardi |
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He hit his ex-girl crib, found out where she lives |
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Some drug dealer nigga, and his two bad kids |
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He ain't home so he boned, grabbed his Roley |
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Went to the bathroom where the robes be, spot full of knot rolls |
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He - grabbed one worth a half a G, shorty smilin happily |
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Smashin she G started snappin he, pictures |
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Took him shoppin, two bills for stoppin by |
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Up to the movies after nigga got high |
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He said, "Remember the time, when you left me in the jail just to die? |
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Got the pictures for your nigga so I need like five |
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thousand tomorrow at nine, on the dot" |
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Left the spot on his way outside, throw him to the side |
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Three guys mask over they eyes in full strides |
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Droppin jewels and G bagged 'em up on the slide |
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Sold the shit to the pawn shop and some fat guy |
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for like 35 hundred and a knife he can run with |
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Fresh to death, left far from that bum shit |
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Snuck into a party where he made a nigga run it |
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in the back room, with the knife up to money's stomach |
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475, and a new chain - before that |
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Got brained from some dame, never knew her name, oddly |
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She let him in the party cause the nigga had Bacardi |
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(Yo why you let the nigga rob me?!) |
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Money outside like, "How the fuck you let him rob me?" |
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(I ain't let him rob you, bitch ass nigga!) |
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She's at the breakfast spot, eatin somethin hearty |
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Rottin on the bus all night, just to go to sleep |
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Seen shorty pick up his cheese, and get back on his feet |
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Five G's worth of Benjamins, at the little store |
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and the bus station tryna turn his winnings in |
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25 dollar scratch, really nothin to holla back |
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Headed to Atlantic City, ten thousand dollar stacks |
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[various ad libs to the end] |