| Yeah, uh
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| You know what this is, right?
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| I don’t really think y’all niggas ready
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| Yo, I stole a pack, then I sold it back
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| Uh, we roll in Lacs and got fold up gats with shoulder straps
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| It’s Griselda, bitch, y’all know the stats
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| I need my safe overflow with racks and a yacht with a speedboat attached
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| We watched niggas eating, now we getting even
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| We watched our mothers cry, but that just made us risk our freedom
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| The .40 blow, you get ripped to pieces, hit and leaking
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| Have your family in this bitch grieving, hugging pics of Jesus
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| My shit the deepest, the shit for thinkers, reachers
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| This shit you simple niggas probably couldn’t grip with tweezers
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| I took dope charges and I caught state cases
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| We did stickups when we was kids and bought Playstations
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| Treat your bitch crib like a truck stop weigh station
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| Safe haven, if we trade places, that’s a vacation
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| You know the science, my soldiers riot
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| And the best done got finessed, I threw more curve balls than Nolan Ryan
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| Growing up, we was so defiant, holding iron
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| Chest poking out while I smoke the finest, you know you dying
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| Who cold as I am? |
| You show up with me, you know you buying
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| Uh, I take one brick and multiply it
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| The realest shit of life might be the realest shit I write
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| At the Knicks game, so close, I’m spilling shit on Spike
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| And I’m killing shit on spite, uh, Glock 19 with the silencer, nigga
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| And I just twisted it on tight, goodnight, uh
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| Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo (Yeah)
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| Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo (Goodnight)
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| Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo (Y'all niggas, y’all ain’t ready)
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| Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo
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| Listen, dawg, we really came from grave conditions
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| Ran the trap like offence and I’m Lane Kiffin
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| Waiting on the lob, from Chris Paul, guess I’m Blake Griffin
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| The TEC shoot from AK distance, so I can’t miss ya
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| Yeah, it’s me, I make these niggas feel like I’m a problem
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| Don’t like you, we wilding, opposed to drinking right from the bottle
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| Rock the Gucci polo with the snake right on the collar
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| ‘Lo top, blue 9s with the white on the bottom
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| Niggas hurt, they in they feelings, they don’t like how I’m styling
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| Got a bitch bad as Rihanna, got her right from the island
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| I been in prison fights where niggas got sliced and then holler
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| We broke bread and shared blood just like we Italian, uh
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| We was Nextelers, now we XXLers
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| Making deal with label execs, our check mailers
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| One of the best, that’s a bet, I don’t sweat, never
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| I can read a sucker nigga like a New York bestseller
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| We jetsetters, street niggas, we just dress better
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| Eating lamb, ain’t no dressing on my salad, just feta
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| Gun plastic, vest metal, GxF Rebel
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| And we hitting family members, so y’all know it’s next level, pussy
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| Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo (Goodnight)
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| Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo
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| Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo
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| Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo
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| Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo
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| Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo
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| Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo
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| Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo
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| Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo
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| Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo
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| Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo
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| Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo |