| Look, Pyrex got the cocaine resin in it
|
| See the rappers in the trash
|
| We was heavy whippin'
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| Used to bag it up and finesse the kitchen
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| Feds close cross the mob let the dezzy lift 'em
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| Told them «No trapping around here»
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| But he ain’t never listen
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| Had my youngins kick his door
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| Now his fetti missing
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| They found his body but his head is missin'
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| Spent his bread with my jeweler he made the bezzy glisten
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| Blood bottles got the pony head
|
| Three racks with the christen and copped the only pair
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| I put up numbers nigga, Kobe here
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| Diamonds in the Rollie clear
|
| Grammy weak but twenty of my homies dead
|
| Halla, halla, halla, if you want to have a suite (I got you, oh)
|
| Halla, halla, halla, if you want to have a suite (I got you, hey, hey, yeah)
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| Yo, you like the bag on my dope
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| Cook all my dope
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| I had to get a mote, you took all the dope
|
| Paying niggas no mind, them other niggas broke
|
| Shoot at 'em 223 semi in my scope
|
| You the best bitch ever, plus you cook the best jerk
|
| All pink FNH in your purse, we love to eat, watch the ocean
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| When we get home, I’m a eat you till you cry
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| Buy you frozen gela, just for nothing
|
| Shut up your ex nigga, how I was bugging
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| You looking at me when you suck it
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| Does your mom know you do that
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| I blew your back out first day
|
| Yo West, can you nut on my face
|
| I fell in love right there
|
| Halla, halla, halla, if you want to have a suite (I got you, oh)
|
| Halla, halla, halla, if you want to have a suite (I got you, hey, hey, hey) |