| In a matter of time, pullin out my pistols and bombs
|
| Me and diggy gettin wiggy wet out of our minds (hey!)
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| In a couple of days, switch it up a couple of ways
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| In a matter of time, findin out so this world could be mine
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| (Kurupt)
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| I’ma crack the bolt, snatch all the money and coke
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| I’m goin for broke pistols, poppin off from the doe
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| I’m launchin 'em all, missiles in the swarm of the war
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| Storm, now everybody on the motherf**kin floor
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| In five seconds, 'bout to leave, five reasons why
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| High on sky, 'bout to blast everythin inside
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| I think I’m good at the (?), C-Walkin cha cha cha
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| To the bang bang boogie, ha ha! |
| (ha ha ha!)
|
| (Kurupt)
|
| Nigga we smokin on some bomb bomb, rollin wit my lights off
|
| Not givin a f**k nigga, Daz and Kurupt nigga
|
| Pistols in my right palm, just in case the war’s on (yeah!)
|
| Over through the war zone, with calicos and the chrome
|
| (Daz) (Kurupt)
|
| What you forgot about the chucks, the khaks, the t-shirts
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| The Glocks, the dope spots, the curb, the herb
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| Swangin, gang-bangin, O.G.'s, double fo’s, six fo’s
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| Bitches and hoes, methodone, head up, scramble
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| Ridin by high, wit the heaters bout to heat the sky
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| I’m about to drop the bomb, nigga load the clip
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| (The motherf**kin G’s back up in this bitch) |