| Yeah, uhh
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| In the M.A.F.I.A.'s land, y’all
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| Where loyalty is everything
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| The M.A.F.I.A. |
| forgives, but never forgets
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| Heh, let me tell you
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| In the M.A.F.I.A.'s land where there’s one boss and one clan
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| Yes mans, they surround us like steaks in pans
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| All 'em wanna be the man, right hands wash the left hands
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| Loyalty’s priority in this fam
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| Where life’s initiated, ain’t no givin' it back
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| Once you in it, like Bennett, you’ll soon be lieutenant
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| Like me, the Don Juan, that’s Yvonne
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| The sweat-a the money getter
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| Coppin' mad cheddar
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| Stevie was Wondering how I got in this position
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| One day Frank was fishin' for competition, expedition
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| Number one, his name is Barry Madanno
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| Push the phat Milano, '96 stick-shift 'cross the Verrazano
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| I lay gently in the Bentley, through binoculars he seemed popular
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| Givenchy socks, Cartier coolats
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| H-class rocks and charms like Bohemians
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| Sick like leukemians, receding hairlines
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| Watch how genuine this gold mine recline
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| When Frank pops the wine, I cocks the nine
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| Niggas peeped it from behind and slipped they clips in quick
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| One chick named Nick thought she was the shit
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| Tried to play Big Poppa, don’t worry
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| Minutes before I drop her, the *blow! |
| blow! |
| blow!*
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| Like a parolee, the bitch violated
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| So how you like it: coffins or cremated?
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| It ain’t a day of my life that rolls by
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| That I don’t get high, sit back, and wan' cry
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| I used to roll hard with tons of bitches
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| Now, it’s just me and my niggas
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| It ain’t a day of my life that rolls by
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| That I don’t get high, sit back, and wan' cry
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| I used to roll hard with tons of bitches
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| Now, it’s just me and my niggas
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| Street murderers, thug parasites
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| We official, no fake gators
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| Coppin' firearms with dud missles
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| We leavin' scar tissues
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| That nigga Barry still aggy about that slut
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| Mob nigga, what! |
| threw the gang sign up
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| The nigga chuckles, just slip the loot
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| On my belt buckles and cracked his middle knuckles
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| Damn! |
| How could a deal for a couple mill
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| Result to such violence
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| And throw our whole shit off balance?
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| But still, they pat me down from all angles
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| Trapped inside the Devil’s triangle
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| Like Bo I had the Jangles
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| And movin' slow to slide up on these Mexicans
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| One cross-eyed and hunchbacked
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| The other must be mixed with Black
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| The third nigga had missin' teeth and tattoo teardrops
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| Long hair, chest felt like a bag of rocks
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| Before this chops
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| I grabbed the keys to locks, the jewels and the rocks
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| The cream in the box, et cetera, et cetera, and it don’t stop
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| I got away with everything, the cash and the stash
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| It ain’t a day of my life that rolls by
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| That I don’t get high, sit back, and wan' cry
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| I used to roll hard with tons of bitches
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| Now, it’s just me and my niggas
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| It ain’t a day of my life that rolls by
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| That I don’t get high, sit back, and wan' cry
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| I used to roll hard with tons of bitches
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| Now, it’s just me and my niggas
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| So now I’m titled, mission accomplished
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| My man was astonished
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| He looked as if there was a foul aroma in the air
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| Stinkin! |
| I know this nigga’s thinkin'
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| «Damn! |
| She too little, too pretty, too quiet
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| The bitch is hired,» mob’s wife for life
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| Diamond heist with Trife, contracts on your life
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| We increase the price, uhh
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| So guess who the bitch is?
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| But for now I be the mistress
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| It ain’t a day of my life that rolls by
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| That I don’t get high, sit back, and wan' cry
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| I used to roll hard with tons of bitches
|
| Now, it’s just me and my niggas
|
| It ain’t a day of my life that rolls by
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| That I don’t get high, sit back, and wan' cry
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| I used to roll hard with tons of bitches
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| Now, it’s just me and my niggas |