| )Rock) Throw mad bullets at you, jumping in new spacely
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| All my goons is frustrated, groan at they P.O.'s
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| It’s obvious, we do this, we bust haters
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| Yo, gun selectors, dumb detectors
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| Chase my niggas, talking slick, where that Lex kid at?
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| You know we cool and we Darth Vaders
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| Always in black uniforms, rocking Clarks and sharp gators
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| Can’t tell me nothing, I’ve been shaking
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| Pull out them slammers, regulate the streets, I bake Satan
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| How many of us it take paper and start a war
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| It’s like starting up a store that sell aces
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| All my colors and bad brothers, rag coverage
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| Black glovesers, leathers and glass lovers
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| Introduce these leaders, wanna take money
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| These dick beaters, and strangle something up, go get Jesus
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| Look, the coke, the coka, the cocaine
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| The C-O-K-E, it’s coke, man
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| They lift the weight up in snow plains
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| You sniff an eighth up in your brain
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| The coke, the coka, the cocaine
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| The C-O-K-E, it’s coke, man
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| The prices rise like some propane
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| The nicest guys become so fame
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| (Freeze) Illegal transport, son, I throw bombs back and forth
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| (Rock) It’s a contact sport, get your arm cracked off
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| Yo, I blast like I’m task force, stashed in my dashboard
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| Exercise black thought, dance on a catwalk
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| Grew up on the asphalt, tryna get my grams off
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| Watch for the hand off, I’ma get my plans off
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| Like you and your mans off, everybody huddle up
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| Twenty cent dime pieces, watch the water bubble up
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| A piece of the puzzle, son, pieces, crumble up
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| My old righteous troublesome, now I’m into major things
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| Made it this far, kid, the God got on angel wings
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| Every time the flavor bring, tons of coke, mad gross
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| Two cuts of lactose, I’m underground like railroad
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| Mad low, son, in this hellhole, an animal
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| Friendship be flammable, no shame for some to blow
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| Brains out for fun, over cocaine and guns
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| Look, the coke, the coka, the cocaine
|
| The C-O-K-E, it’s coke, man
|
| They lift the weight up in snow plains
|
| You sniff an eighth up in your brain
|
| The coke, the coka, the cocaine
|
| The C-O-K-E, it’s coke, man
|
| The prices rise like some propane
|
| The nicest guys become so fame
|
| Ever since a little youth
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| I’ve been bent on stoups sipping gin and juice
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| In the booth, fill the dope game, shooting on bent up hoops
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| Roll around in stolen cars, nah these ain’t no rented coupes
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| Grimeys behind me, they all grimey, ninety percent of controlled
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| Lying in the booth, put the ashes in the pipe
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| Blowtorch to the crack, my fire is winter proof
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| Old thoughts of black and white pictures, now they developing
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| Skeletons surrounded by archangels and seraphins
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| Telegram packages distributed through the whole hood
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| Tell him this racquet is bad for him but it’s so good
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| Are you a fighter? |
| Real life scuffle, no dirt clean
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| Plus a muthafucka had to hustle since 13
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| I got my mind in focus, where you never been at
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| How you think I made a hundred grand, from where my pen’s at
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| Fuck the fortune and the glamour, I don’t need no fame
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| I piss whiskey and spit fire, I bleed cocaine, muthafucka
|
| Look, the coke, the coka, the cocaine
|
| The C-O-K-E, it’s coke, man
|
| They lift the weight up in snow plains
|
| You sniff an eighth up in your brain
|
| The coke, the coka, the cocaine
|
| The C-O-K-E, it’s coke, man
|
| The prices rise like some propane
|
| The nicest guys become so fame
|
| Freeze! |
| Rock!
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| Freeze! |
| Rock!
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| Freeze! |
| Rock!
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| Freeze! |
| Rock! |