| I move on my instincts and practice by what I preach
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| A bullet’ll make you think, I’m fuller then Hennessey
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| When I pull it, I pop it off, popping all at your car
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| Smashing off in the dark, through traffic I’m what you call
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| A gangsta that break them laws, a gangsta that keep it all
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| Hood out in public, sagging, showing my drawers
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| When my pistol by my pelvis, this ain’t just another song
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| It’s a mothafucking anthem
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| I got my hand up on my balls, smoking on a cancer
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| Fucking up my lungs, hitting niggas up like where the fuck you from
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| Acting like you strapped, nigga, where the fucking gun
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| Niggas quick to make a scene, the scene when the cops come
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| So you hit 'em with that beam to the spleen and blood you lost
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| Leave 'em sleeping on the street, choking on his own blood
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| Just coating this no love, this fucking thing know what’s up
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| Respect is when you see us, so them choppers’ll wet you up
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| Dipping on low bros and traffic in slow-mo
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| Just me and my pistol, I keep a she under clothes
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| I love it just like my kids, treat her just like my bitch
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| Need her, she keep a clip, I’m anxious to see her spit
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| Dipping on low bros and traffic in slow-mo
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| Just me and my pistol, I keep a she under clothes
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| I love it just like my kids, treat her just like my bitch
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| Need her, she keep a clip, I’m anxious to see her spit
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| I get it, how I can get it, but never selling my soul
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| Can get it, how I wanna get it, I come the pistol
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| Keep her with me, she needy, don’t wanna be left alone
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| What’s the sense to leave her home, fuck around, I’m a danger
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| She concealed til a nigga show his ass, I reveal her
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| Have you looking down the barrel, like you looking in the mirror
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| Have you lying face down, but you hear me little clearer
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| Got a little bad news, and guess who the bearer?
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| It’s her, that bitch, that chrome four fifth
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| Your wrist looking blue, I’m on that brisk
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| You next in line, you on that list
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| Put that pistol in your mouth, give her a big fat kiss
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| When I’m anxious, and dangerous, to be around here
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| This here, Eddie Grier, mothafucka, I’m near
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| With that shiny bitch, that grimy bitch
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| And best believe, yo, she ain’t no model bitch
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| Dipping on low bros and traffic in slow-mo
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| Just me and my pistol, I keep a she under clothes
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| I love it just like my kids, treat her just like my bitch
|
| Need her, she keep a clip, I’m anxious to see her spit
|
| Dipping on low bros and traffic in slow-mo
|
| Just me and my pistol, I keep a she under clothes
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| I love it just like my kids, treat her just like my bitch
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| Need her, she keep a clip, I’m anxious to see her spit |