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As I bail through the woods of the southside |
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Terrors on nine milli chrome kill alone cause I trust no snitch |
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When I peel a dome and bail |
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Gone like hell right through the do |
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I'm rollin' a fat sack of red boogy boo, nigga ooh |
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Watch me bail nigga but you don't see me though |
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Cause I'm rollin' fat sacks in the back of my vehicle |
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But takin' a puff of the dank stuff |
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and enough that double O-A-E dooz me |
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I'm slowly loadin' up the oozy |
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Well now who's he |
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Well it's that dead motherf**ker doe |
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Well whatcha know comin' through with that murder mo |
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And I heard you know now whose been bustin' up on the garden block |
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You either give up the information, |
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nigga I get shots, so nigga nah WHAT! |
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I guess you wanna dose of this milla |
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Twenty-four shots from that mommas baby killa |
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Nigga mack hustla, cap busta, infact I'm just a mack ten |
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Bustin' em at your chin before I crept nigga |
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Welcome to your own death |
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Chorus x6 |
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Nigga welcome to your own death |
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(BUCK! For them who don't know bout loc to da brain |
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Them got them nine millimeter strap and true is the game) x2 |
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So niggas miss my sicc |
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Some niggas don't know me, niggas don't know my click |
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That O-loc-double-C-O-G rip gut canibal type of shit |
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Plus many more caps bust |
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Anymore sacks to roll up, we need that high back |
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So niggas done load them nins and pull them high jacks |
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And lie back in the cut and roll another fat one up |
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Tack one up for loc to the brain |
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Them niggas that really don't give a f**k |
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Around and get buck, shot it up and dump in a truck and left in a cut |
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So nigga now whatcha gon do with a mini mack ten ten at yo gut |
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Plus niggas nuts and guts is what I rips for |
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Creepin' up in a six four impala |
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Mobbin' a loots all up to make you vomit from the raw gut cause |
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Nah what I do is let my nine do the talkin' |
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Leavin' you walkin' to your funeral low |
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Diggin'? yo smoke from the mack 1-0 |
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I had ya pussin' just in case |
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I got me a mack eleven for your face that's leavin' no trace |
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Caps leavin' a gate and puttin' holes in a niggas neck |
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So watch the reeper when I creep crept |
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Welcome to your own death |
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Chorus x6 |
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When I hit the block with a nine |
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Them fools better be duckin' |
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My nigga duck got out the car and started buckin' at niggas runnin' |
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untraceable gage shells |
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Only worriers goin' to hell |
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And 5-0 they just can't swoop |
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See cause we mobbin' too well |
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My murder file done pile more than a nigga expected |
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See cause have of the city of Sac still ain't accepted |
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That I'm a pack and when I'm sweated I'ma put in work |
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Cause my O-T told me why Jesus got to kick up some dirt |
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And I'm tired of warnin' a motherf**ker about a nigga like me |
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When it's hard to believe |
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the nine millimeter comin' out my pants gonna make you dance |
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See that's the city and it's making a motherf**ker stress |
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Gotta watch your back like 24-7 |
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unless you wanna be livin' the rest of your life |
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Up in a cemetery die nigga die you'll repeat until you're buried |
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That nine millimeter givin' no motherf**kin' respect |
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Up on your back with your last breathe |
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Welcome to your own death |
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Chorus x6 |