Hit the dank and took my glock off lock, and off
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To the 21st blocc, I¡¯m rollin in a drop top
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Three for zero that black criminal mac mac nigga
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That pap! pap! me humming a couple of rounds
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And while I test him, hey fuck a Smith & Wesson
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I got my, nine at my chest and I got my dime bag
|
Of stress weed, a 40 oz. of OE and I¡¯m creepin
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Up on some niggas in a mob and a nigga claimin OG,
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Pap! hit him in that dome and it was that nigga¡¯s worst
|
Put him on the ground wit a brain, full o¡¯ dem nine slugs
|
So wrap that nigga up, put him in a hearse
|
And I¡¯m hittin 50, right around that curb, tight,
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Rollin up in a 64, 4 doors sideways to the next light (YOU KNOW)
|
An I hit that corner of 24 street, some nigga mean mugging
|
Lynch, and I pop in a clip and I¡¯m not finna get got,
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I¡¯ma shoot before I¡¯m shot for the fact I¡¯m B-U-Double D-E-D
|
I¡¯m reaching up in my glove box, for the welfare weed
|
That¡¯s fillin a nigga¡¯s siccness so witness dead bodies
|
In an, oldsmobile, up on the curb and while I¡¯m skirtin
|
Pass the view wit an empty 9 and some bourbon (riiight)
|
I just adjust to the fact that niggas aint got no hope
|
I¡¯m fillin em up with 16s, and letting em know
|
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Chorus
|
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It¡¯s either that die, or that sickness, and it¡¯s the nigga that nigga that
|
One you come see, with that 9 millimeter meter watch them 9 millimeter meat
|
Wikkihdie come, Wikkihtah come, Wikkihtah come, Wikkihtah E-drop, styling,
|
If It don¡¯t get you with me nina then me, use 3,18's,pop nigga not mind not know
|
finned to do Without them gun shell, firing, for* them don¡¯t know me when me high off them doja* killa weed, me take-a me nine millimeter nine, And me blast them, enemies for den them be dying, cuz of dat siccness then crea......
|
..ated by me and them say
|
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Load up that nina* I¡¯m finna finna go pull
|
Them boys getting out them nine cut them in half with some of them
|
Ripgut, quality, for the fundamental cannibalism
|
Got them black enemy runnin in and when them,
|
Sickness kick in a million, baby dying, buck!
|
|
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Hit em with my G like every day, nigga,
|
From the creek to the Garden Blocc,
|
I was creepin from the double dead red till all the drama stop,
|
And 50 150 is all that shouldn¡¯t even be on a niggas list
|
Cuz since for the fuckin with I¡¯ve been crazy times 666 and um,
|
Niggas cant see my folk when I dump them .44 slugs all down they throat
|
It takes one time, all night, to peel your tonsols
|
From the phone post, you know,
|
All up in the cut with the real deuce deuce four love I got
|
But you know that nigga from the creek so peep at what this trigger got
|
Come follow me sin, come quick cuz I¡¯m bustin all up on your, blocc
|
Shakin up yo nuts like dice deuce four in the don¡¯t strike twice
|
Them gon all go say ¡°oh¡± about 44 times till so,
|
Much later than you go, better off dead, but nigga instead
|
That I let your mama know, she might wanna follow this Fahlivum shit
|
Cuz a nigga wont last much longer, with wraps in the cut
|
Chewin all on your nuts like my nigga Jeffrey Dahlmer,
|
Cant load that shit that sickness gets me harder than a corpse
|
Till I reach for the greeds that nigga start jackin off until it hurts
|
Swallow my shit so thick this nigga run loccs up on you almost daily
|
For the digs then I¡¯m off dick grow soft with lynch I¡¯m chewin up babies
|
We gonna stay sicc, for the crazy run em up gospel shit kicks in
|
It¡¯s the nigga named 6 with the locc to the brain style fix
|
Eatin up your dead skin
|
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Chorus
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-----------------
|
Season Of Da Sicc
|
Brotha Lynch Hung |