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(featuring Zigg Zagg, Big Dan, Mr. Doctor, Baby Reg) |
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[Verse 1: Zigg Zagg] |
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Comin off that high it's that double-set rapped around some funk in the trunk |
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I got the mossberg pump and bout' to jack a punk |
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And when that siccness hits I'm like a new stage |
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Watch my back, hit the dank, load the gat, make the grave |
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Twelve midnight, my niggas on the stroll, |
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Mr. Doc, Baby Reg, Brotha Lynch, Big Dan |
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We bout' to roll ridin deep hella high so nigga peep this, |
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Take ya glock off safety turn around and hit the street |
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When I got the milli pictured in my head |
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Ain't no stoppin cuz the devil said I'm halfway dead |
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What can I say got them evil thoughts fillin' up my Head locc to the brain |
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On that insane tip E-B-K everyday |
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The block-style bitch smokin' dank |
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With my braids in my hair and I'm riding on a full tank |
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My nine on the side going Both ways, |
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Peel a niggas cap and then I'm sideways |
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Chorus: repeat 2X |
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Locc to da brain insane every day all day it's E-B-K |
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Where niggaz load they straps cause the rival's on the way |
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Locc to da brain... |
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[Verse 2: Big Dan] |
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Now try to peep this watt G straight low killa rollin five and the deuce |
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Locc to the brain set-trippin' after fucking with that sick juice |
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I fuckin' pump twelve rounds of that knot block the plot |
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(you down to ride?) yeah we fuckin' with them body drops stop |
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Hit the lights there them niggas go |
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Reach for your flags your straps and roll the windows low |
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Roll slow these niggas actin like they know us are here, |
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They fuckin' duckin' dodging bullets damn I emptied the clip |
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They bustin' back trying to hit us from the blind side Low, |
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A fucking doughnut and the twelve-gauge pump |
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Hang from the window what's up now nigga yee-ah |
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L-O-C to the brain and gauge blast equals rest in pain |
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Insane loc so a nigga don't give a fuck |
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It's in the hearts so these rival niggas straight stuck |
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I let the gauge loose damn I've never seen so much blood |
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It's all for gang and the gang shows no love fool |
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So if you ever see us rollin through your side it ain't all good, |
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I suggest you hide |
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Chorus: 1X |
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Locc to da brain insane every day all day it's E-B-K |
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Where niggaz load they straps cause the rival's on the way |
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[Verse 3: Mr. Doctor] |
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Come with me deep see how I'm bout to do it for this |
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Back with tight big shit |
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Them fools that say they'll kill the stinking hits not doing shit |
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When they get lit up on they turf |
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So move on with they life one even left |
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That since that time I haven't heard from him |
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Now that's my locc right damn, where'd you go folks? |
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Remember we're supposed to be the ones with brains this locc's |
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So nigga fuck it, i'll do it like your ass is dead |
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And touch them niggas with the Mac-11 out of the shell |
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I'm burning up the villiage nigga life is a bitch |
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Somes I set the tags and name on the wall you fucking snitch |
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So you'll make a switch on how you're gang-banging |
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L-O-C and to the brain real locc's don't play that way |
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See your niggas on the other side is best to hit the floor |
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And watch them flesh-shredders bout' to rip your asshole apart |
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And now it is said and what was said |
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Will come to pass from Mr. Doc amen, God bless your ass |
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Chorus: repeat 2X |
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Locc to da brain insane every day all day it's E-B-K |
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Where niggaz load they straps cause the rival's on the way |
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[Verse 4: Baby Reg] |
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See I was standing in the middle of a circle cuz' a nigga is trying to jack me |
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With a nine-millimeter ruger and a six deep posse |
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But I ain't going out for a jack move |
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The only thing on my mind |
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Is pullin my nine and just handling in these fools |
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Now tell me what you busters want with me? |
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They started talking about pockets on the ground you mean |
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Empty my loot out, you fools must be smokin' sherms |
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But i'll be glad to put my strap up in your face and let some gun powder burn |
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Now take a lesson from a Sac-Town criminal |
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I'm standing all alone in the street |
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And talkin shit to your circle and ain't no blastin y'all must be bluffin |
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Threw up my sign and grabbed my nine-millimeter nine |
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And started bustin on niggas and watching every muther fucker try to run |
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That locc to da brain got a nigga insane with a fucking empty gun |
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So imma continue to strike and stay alone and maintain my self-pride |
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Cuz' when I ride it's always locc to da brain |
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Chorus: repeat 2X |
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Locc to da brain insane every day all day it's E-B-K |
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Where niggaz load they straps cause the rival's on the way |
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[Verse 5: Brotha Lynch Hung] |
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You can't see me for the fact that the inside of my strap's in your sight |
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Bout' to put some slugs in your throat and put your guts in my coat and hit |
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the night Drop a sack of indo in my pipe and it's |
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EBK everyday all day til the day I hit my grave-sight |
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That locc to the brain cuz' it's all redrum |
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A couple of hits from the purple spliff |
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and I'm workin a fifth of the coke and rum |
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I have my twelve gauge-pump decorating niggas brains |
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Nigga nuts and guts is how we get sick them Northern Cal slayings |
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That locc to the brain shit ain't no game it's a gang |
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Them niggas that killed they mama for some fame it ain't no thang |
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It ain't no way, I dump and let them niggas live |
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Cuz' where I'm from we rockin up on em' |
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bustin them reps up in them niggas ribs |
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It's twelve-o-clock full of that spliff full of that ammo in my glock-nine |
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Creepin through your set hit the stop |
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Sign sideways bustin I see gat twenty-four C's |
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Feel the breeze from the slugs in my nine now |
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Rest in peace |
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Chorus: repeat 4X |
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Locc to da brain insane every day all day it's E-B-K |
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Where niggaz load they straps cause the rival's on the way |