| Jones, what up, nigga
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| B-S-F (Gangsta…)
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| Dj Drama!
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| I fell in love with the streets
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| Mike Amiri jeans and Timberland cleats
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| Forty with the stick and worry about beef
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| I fell in love with the streets
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| Once it’s war, ain’t no truce, ain’t no peace
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| Ain’t got no kids, find his nephew and niece
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| I fell in love with the streets
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| Where real niggas don’t forget about their piece
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| Whether they been or their resting in peace
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| I fell in love with the streets
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| Crips, the Bloods, G’s the kings
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| From the North, South, West to the East
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| I fell in love with the streets
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| I’m a rare breed not the type that you hand feed
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| Shots from the forty cal make them stampede
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| My hand squeeze (Prrr!)
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| First thing you see is head bleed (Damn!)
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| Gotta clear the scene, that boy gon need a med team
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| The last thing, in real life, this ain’t no damn dream
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| The Black Sopranos is the model, we do the damn thing
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| Big glizzy forty-five make my pants lean
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| In a seven-forty-five selling
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| I’ve been on the stoop in Timberland boots
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| Front line with my rifle like a militant troop
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| They tell me «Chill!» |
| but fuck that, I’m ready to shoot
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| I was young Biggie Smalls, made em give me the loot
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| Cousin Crip, Uncle Blood, then G showed me love
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| Know a couple Latin kings that’ll fill you with some slugs
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| We was young pushing drugs
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| Get locked, take mugs
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| I come from a different cloth, nothing like the fake thugs
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| I fell in love with the streets
|
| Mike Amiri jeans and Timberland cleats
|
| Forty with the stick and worry about beef
|
| I fell in love with the streets
|
| Once it’s war, ain’t no truce, ain’t no peace
|
| Ain’t got no kids, find his nephew and niece
|
| I fell in love with the streets
|
| Where real niggas don’t forget about their piece
|
| Whether they been or their resting in peace
|
| I fell in love with the streets
|
| Crips, the Bloods, G’s the kings
|
| From the North, South, West to the East
|
| I fell in love with the streets
|
| I used to love it when niggas shot dice and sipped liquor
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| Probably hurt my mom so I hurt his lil' sister
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| Left me with my granny, had me listening to The Whispers
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| Grills on my cheek, where my aunty used to kiss us
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| Now I’m getting older, nigga pistols in my stroller
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| Mama’s kitchen taken over by my uncle, coke and soda
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| This is Eazy-E, N-W-A before the hover
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| Dookie ropes, caddies and subs before the rovers
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| Fast forward to 2000s, my niggas' wilding
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| Sixteen, cases was violent but stayed silent
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| Luminas and six-thousands if there’s a problem
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| Young nigga, leading the war, I call him Powell
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| It’s John Z, the call me grown now
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| I be in three indictments, don’t use the phone now
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| I left the trap for the rap, I crab the mic not the crap
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| When I’m on stage, that shit feel like my home now
|
| I fell in love with the streets
|
| Mike Amiri jeans and Timberland cleats
|
| Forty with the stick and worry about beef
|
| I fell in love with the streets
|
| Once it’s war, ain’t no truce, ain’t no peace
|
| Ain’t got no kids, find his nephew and niece
|
| I fell in love with the streets
|
| Where real niggas don’t forget about their piece
|
| Whether they been or their resting in peace
|
| I fell in love with the streets
|
| Crips, the Bloods, G’s the kings
|
| From the North, South, West to the East
|
| I fell in love with the streets |