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(feat. Big Shug, Ed O.G., Krumbsnatcha) |
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That's right, Boston |
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Yeah, Boston niggas be rollin' dolo from state to stae |
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It's nothing, we do this |
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[Chorus] |
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Still nobody guards I stay sucker free |
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Still sling rhymes hard I stay puffing trees |
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Rollin' Dolo from state to state |
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Still drop the hot shit for you to pull out your crate |
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[Guru] |
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Yo, jealousy can kill so I test my skill |
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Any pomp I can romp and stomp at will |
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Now as I gets my thrill it's like my daily drill |
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You spill raps and in (?) I've been made to ill |
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You can't talk the talk, you can't walk the walk |
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Been dwelling with the muggers and the murderers talk |
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Your shocked by the way I regulate ya' obliterate ya' |
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Erase your obsolete weak cheap data |
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[ED O.G.] |
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It's this hip-hop art I stay true to, crack brew to |
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I fuck your girl a lot better than you do |
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The type of lyrics I spit will never fail you |
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Battle you online, type a letter forward it then email you |
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Take you off the track and de-rail you |
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Get the hell out my face don't want to be near you |
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Don't want your snippets hate your album or your headshots |
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It's ED O.G. in the black-fitted Red Sox |
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Thuggin' the streets but you soft at home |
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You got skills off the dome? |
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I'm a off your dome |
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This is a battlefield, no time for screaming and yelling |
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You get smacked in the face use your ice for the swelling |
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Besides the records I'm selling |
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My momma' raised no felon |
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On the hunt like Helen |
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For whack rappers who's jellin' |
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This is drama not a kitty show |
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You want to get fucked up |
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Like the low-budget video |
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I know a lot of time's passed |
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The ED O.G. is still here and ya'll still half-ass |
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[Chorus] |
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{Ya'll still half ass} |
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{Ya'll half-ass rappers} |
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Still nobody guards I stay sucker free |
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Still sling rhymes hard I stay puffing trees |
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Rollin' Dolo from state to state |
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Still drop the hot shit for you to pull out your crate |
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[Big Shug] |
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It's the return of the mouth-musher, skull-crusher |
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Pack myself with two nines and (?) |
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That nigga all day beating down suckers |
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Sporting the game making it get more rougher |
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The face-puncher the hot-cruncher |
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The have it with gods for the law out-to-luncher |
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The seven-thirty, know I'm more than a sick man |
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The streets raised this wild ass nigga from "Murderpan" |
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The real rapper the pimp-slapper |
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The put on the socks with your suit and stay dapper |
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Whoa, the chump-choker the backwood tree smoker |
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Stash the gats in the sofa it's all over |
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One life to live and that's that |
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I keep my lyrics heavily packed and cocked back |
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I'll smash you right in your fucking face black |
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I'm the realest nigga what you know about that |
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I'm a let my skills shine like brand new chrome |
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And tell them son-niggas you run with that daddy's home |
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I roll dolo from state to state it feels great |
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And in two thousand get on the stage and demonstrate |
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[Chorus] |
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Still nobody guards I stay sucker free |
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Still sling rhymes hard I stay puffing trees |
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Rollin' Dolo from state to state |
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Still drop the hot shit for you to pull out your crate |
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[Guru] |
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No holds barred I'm going all out |
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I don't think your for real I think your all mouth |
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So bust one for my dogs locked down |
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And for my real rap lovers know I got it locked down |
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Untill your blocked down, punks get beat down |
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You can't rock a party take a seat you clown |
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I frown upon scavengers and wannabe's |
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Commit atrocities upon MC's who think they heart is mean |
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[Chorus] |
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Still nobody guards I stay sucker free |
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Still sling rhymes hard I stay puffing trees |
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Rollin' Dolo from state to state |
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Still drop the hot shit for you to pull out your crate |
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[Krumbsnatcha] |
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Smokey gray Lexus, diamond necklace |
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We livin' wreckless and die for these inspectors |
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The four pounders, cock the name on you out-of-towners |
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And what, henne' filled cups peep the diamond cut |
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Ice, paradise, living in the thug life |
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Married to the game fuck a lame diggin' out your wife |
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Loving all these block wars do shit that's uncalled for |
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Make money in your spot get it locked, shoot down four |
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For all your ghetto revenues |
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Spraying through any avenue |
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Running I'll be grabbing you |
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Hog-tied and smacking you |
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With heaters on purpose |
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Hold you hostage like you was Turkish |
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And your pussy ass elevated gut it down your worthless |
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These thoughts is vivid and we talk if you live it |
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Rappers brag about a town but don't get respect in it |
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Ain't a damn shame, whats thats man's name |
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That got a flame to his nut |
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Clearing out his spot with a rusted hook |
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Trust me it's not this entertainment |
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Ask the judges that face me on the arrangement |
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Plus I came with, hundreds of niggas that think the same |
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The plastic hotter than acid to melt the brain |
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You know the rest man |