| Smoking on the joint
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| Wanna tell my dog Joey Fatts thanks
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| Uh, the windshield wiper blades
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| Need to be changed, in my 600, soon
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| But we still driving through this monsoon
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| As Vish on the wheel, I’m in the passenger
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| Twisting that Kill Bill
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| Shit louder than a Dr. Dre Beats, pill
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| Phone to my ear, hold it there with my shoulder
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| Homie I could move a boulder from a Boost mobile
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| Roddy showed me how to do it when he came through the crib
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| I got that beat from Fatts
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| He played it for 5 seconds, I stopped him and told him
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| Damn homie, I gotsa have this bitch
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| When you listen, hope you envision a classic whip
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| With a classic tight, low key, nasty bitch
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| Rollin' like the Few Chosen
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| Diamonds and golden ornaments hanging from my neck
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| They compliment my clothing
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| Don’t trip off how I dress, watch your motherfuckin' step
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| This the mother fuckin' Jets, suckas look up to the (set)
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| Big ass tables in my crib
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| We be eating and having meetings in here
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| On increasing this year’s production of Audio Dope
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| Pumping it out, before they know they want mo'
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| Ain’t nobody stepping on it, this shit as new as the morning bro
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| They sleeping on a nigga, I was on the bus touring
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| Two homes and four Rolexes later they waking up to him
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| Now viewing this in pursuit of my coupe
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| But this just music
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| Street distribution tactics
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| They getting high off it and high to it
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| I’m backing out the garage in the RR
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| Just how I said I would, and I did
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| Thought about it since I was a kid
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| Now I live it out, smoking big killer
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| Listening to Biggie Smalls in my big ass house
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| Nigguhhh |