| How you doin'?
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| How can I help you?
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| Yeah, I need to make a withdrawal…
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| What? |
| Oh my God, don’t kill me
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| I’m not gonna kill you, bitch. |
| Quit fucking around
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| Don’t kill me, I have two kids at home!
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| I said I’m not gonna fucking kill you!
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| Don’t kill me!
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| Hurry the fuck up! |
| *gunshot* Thank you!
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| I gotta keep this engine running (I'll be back)
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| Pedal to the metal, Swifty better hurry up
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| 'Cause I ain’t going back to jail
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| I don’t wanna see my face up in Newsweek
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| I’m sitting like a duck, like Tulley up in «Blue Streak»
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| What the fuck is taking so long?
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| (Hurry up, motherfucker, I’ma hit this gas and be GONE!)
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| But I can’t leave my homey (Hold up!) They all know me
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| I’m the Jeff Gord-on of this bitch, the cops can blow me Fuck, who is that? |
| Shit, I’m getting nervous
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| Staring out this dirty windshield for any persons
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| Damn, it’s this bum, cleaning with a squeegee
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| (Here's a dollar, motherfucker, now scram before they see me!)
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| I hope they didn’t ring the alarm (Shit)
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| Swifty’s gonna have to bomb, and then it fucks up the job
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| But I don’t care, as long as we flee this place
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| 'Cause the last thing I need is a fucking police chase, shit
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| Cool, here he comes, I hope he’s got the stash
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| (Yo nigga, pull off! We heading to the bank for some mo’cash!)
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| Yo, there better be enough for me to get that maid back
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| (Hey yo, don’t worry 'bout that, dog, the cash is in our laps)
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| (Chorus: Eminem)
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| Put the money in the back, bitch, this is a stickup
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| Anybody who moves is getting picked up, off the ground
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| This is the sound, this is how its going down
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| If I’m going down, then you’re going down (down)
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| Now this is the plot: we pull this off, then we split the pot
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| We get caught, I’m peeling off, the deal is off
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| But if we can pull this caper, then we can get this paper
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| Then I’m going, off to Tijuana
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| Come on, I’m ready if you are
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| ??? |
| while I sit in the car chiefing
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| In the mood to be thieving this season
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| Hey yo, Hush, I’ma snatch what they ???
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| Pull over and I’ma rob this bitch for a purpose
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| You can either read it or see it
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| (What you mean, «Read it or see it?»)
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| It’ll work, know what’s worse?
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| It’s better than having to beat a bitch up out of her purse
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| I been pacing this bank, patiently waiting
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| For the day they get up in this motherfucker
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| So don’t drive away (I'll be right here!)
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| Hey ('sup?) Nigga, pop the trunk so I can grab the AK
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| And then I’m headed to the safe
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| I’m at the counter in the teller’s face
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| «Yo, if anybody move, I’ma make spaghetti out of your wife!"(Don't shoot!)
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| I hopped a gate, shot a citizen
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| After he gave me the combination to open it And there was nothing but Benjamins
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| Filled it back and jetted up, headed to the door
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| Hush is in the front, revving up (Motherfucker, come on!)
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| I jumped over the security, while he on the floor
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| Trying to pull my feet, I shot him before he could draw
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| Hit the street and we swerve
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| No less than a hundred thousand in our back seat
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| (Now I’m peeling off the curb)
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| I got some chips up my sleeve
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| I walked in a 7−11 and grabbed Aviv
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| And put the heat to his cheek
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| Don’t even think about moving
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| Just gimme the loot and I’ll be cruising
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| Along with my day and it won’t be a shooting
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| (Mister, please don’t hurt me! Here, have a Slurpee!)
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| Oh my God, Aviv, shut the fuck up, your voice irks me All of this for three hundred seventy six dollars and eight cents?
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| This robbery does not make sense
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| Come on out bitch (scream) Yeah, you, behind the chip rack
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| Your little stank ass is on the verge of getting pimp slapped
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| Gimme your paper, your jewels, and all of your valuables
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| Serious about that scrilla, Kuniva an animal
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| Rushing out the front door, zigzagging and dodging traffic
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| If it gets drastic, my automatic will start a blasting
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| That’s how we do it where I’m from, me, Swift, and Hush
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| We ducking off, contemplating which lick to rush |