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Can I do my thang??
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*(Yukmouth)*
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Speak on it.
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*(Brownstone)*
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Oh, oh, ohhh.
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Oh, oh, ohh, hey.
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Verse 1 *(Yukmouth)*
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Uh.
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Niggaz be havin the mutha fuckin blues,
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like 5-0-5's
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I won't lie,
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homicide,
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gram will cry,
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pray for me that I won't die,
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suicide,
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I won't try,
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bullets fly,
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drive-by,
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don't let it slide, do or die,
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you an I, slide by,
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catch them niggaz off my side,
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wit nothin to hide body die rot,
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on they porch,
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when I expectin some sort of drive-by,
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type retaliation,
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under styles I lace, MOBBulation,
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lets begin breakin down the situation,
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when, the end of our frustration,
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so while we racin down the block, wit a thirty-eight, an glock,
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the cops is waitin to umm,
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accelerate on yo vehicle,
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run down yo vehicle,
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even if they have to gun down yo vehicle,
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nigga, up in these high-speedaz,
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police they be the Rosco Bico train,
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swervin in an outta lanes,
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runnin from O-H-A,
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what they throw away,
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eh, though, eh, way,
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pistol,
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every mutha fucka wanna peep.
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Chorus x2 *(Brownstone & Yukmouth)*
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Millionaire!
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Dreams of big millions play.
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Ever seen a sad millionaire?
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I thought that money make us happy.
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Verse 2 *(Yukmouth)*
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What if I was a millionaire,
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huh,
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a major playa on the block,
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that a mac daddy, drivin a black Caddy couldn't stop,
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hella strap happy,
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cuz niggaz slangin all my rocks,
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point yo gats at me,
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I don't know where uzis to yo knot,
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fo fuckin wit the big shot,
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I was juss flat droppin g bannos on the ground,
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be down,
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that's one of my shit, an get shot,
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only the baddest bitches jock,
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get chosen,
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global shouts,
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for bitches out there who be voguin,
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on the collar of poppa,
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brand new hundred dolla billz, an a choppa,
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where niggaz strapped fo real, like Chubacca,
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who got the gonga,
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cuz I be high like phone doctor,
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spark on vodka,
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eatin lobster, bumpin Frank Sinatra,
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Smoke-A-Lot be the MOBBsta, who shot ya,
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like Vinny Blanca,
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come back in the end juss to haunt ya,
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plus I twist a Benz like Big Poppa,
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what's the big proper use,
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go get yo bread an do what ya gots to be a,
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millionaire playa.
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Chorus x2
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Verse 3 *(Yukmouth)*
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Uh.
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You niggaz juss created a monsta,
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fuck a type, I smoke gonga,
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in the Bahammas,
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fuckin yo baby mama,
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doggystyle (whoo,wee!)
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two wow, you wow,
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doubt man,
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who wow "Bout it, Bout it",
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niggaz be claimin they be the Ice Cream Man,
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but I doubt it, doubt it,
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be rowdy,
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hit the paper chasin clout it,
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sky up out the ugly four day la-la-by yo Cuttie like a ballot,
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smokin blunts, an crunchin weed, sex,
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fresh outta drug rehabs,
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spend two g's at every function I be at,
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believe that, BITCH!!
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Ya mind is Smoke-A-Lot,
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grab bitches by the throat-a-lot,
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that's what ya told the cops,
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I hold the glock,
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aim it an fire,
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retire another nigga,
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nameless,
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game is fo hire,
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desire chariots fire,
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light as I'm a tuck her,
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we're so called "potnaz", fuck 'em,
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an dust em off wit a choppa, I can't rush 'em,
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gotta bust 'em,
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too skinny I can't trust 'em,
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an when the mutha fuckaz got meal tickets you might have to love 'em,
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an that's fo real.
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Nigga.
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Chorus x5
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*(Yukmouth talking during chorus)*
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Have all this fuckin money, an still ain't happy. Nigga, still got
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problems wit stress, mutha fuckaz juss think you got it made, they try
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to rob you an shit, yo own potnaz in the hood juss wanna love you. Fuck
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money, I wish I didn't have it, cuz when I didn't have it it was all
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good, niggaz loved me when I was juss drinkin brew an shit at the store.
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Now ya got money everybody wanna kill me, nigga, ya own relatives wanna
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do you, skanless boy, this is Nine Skrillion, make a million bucks.
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Millionaire.
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-----------------
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Sad Millionaire
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Luniz |