And as I bail through the woods of the southside
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Terror zone nine milli chrome kill alone cause I trust no snitch
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When I peel a dome and bail
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Gone like hell right through the do
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I'm rollin' a fat sack of red boogy boo, nigga ooh
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Watch me bail nigga but you don't see me though
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Cause I'm rollin' fat sacks in the back of my vehicle
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But takin' a puff of the dank stuff
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and enough that double O-A-E dooz me
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I'm slowly loadin' up the oozy
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Well now who's he
|
Well it's that dead motherfucker doe
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Well whatcha know comin' through with that murder mo
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And I heard you know now whose been bustin' up on the garden block
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You either give up the information,
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nigga o get shot, so nigga nah WHAT!
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I guess you wanna dose of this milla
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Twenty-four shots from that mommas baby killa
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Nigga mack hustla, cap busta, infact I'm just a mack ten
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Bustin' em at your chin before I crept nigga
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Welcome to your own death
|
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Chorus x6
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Nigga welcome to your own death
|
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(BUCK! For them who don't know bout loc to da brain
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Them got them nine millimeter strap and true is the game) x2
|
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So niggas miss my sicc
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Some niggas don't know me, niggas don't know my click
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That O-loc-double-C-O-G rip gut canibal type of shit
|
Plus many more caps bust
|
Anymore sacks to roll up, we need that high back
|
So niggas done load them nines and pull them high jacks
|
And lie back in the cut and roll another fat one up
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Tack one up for locc to the brain
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Them niggas that really don't give a fuck
|
Around and get buck, shot it up and dump in a truck and left in a cut
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So nigga now whatcha gon do with a mini mack ten ten at yo gut
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Plus niggas nuts and guts is what I rips for
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Creepin' up in a six four impala
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Mobbin' a loots all up to make you vomit from the raw gut cause
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Nah what I do is let my nine do the talkin'
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Leavin' you walkin' to your funeral low
|
Diggin'? yo smoke from the mack 1-0
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I had ya pussin' just in case
|
I got me a mack eleven for your face that's leavin' no trace
|
Caps leavin' a gate and puttin' holes in a niggas neck
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So watch the reeper when I creep crept
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Welcome to your own death
|
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Chorus x6
|
|
When I hit the block with a nine
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Them fools better be duckin'
|
My nigga duck got out the car and started buckin' at niggas runnin'
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untraceable gauge shells
|
Only worriers goin' to hell
|
And 5-0 they just can't swoop
|
See cause we mobbin' too well
|
My murder file done pile more than a nigga expected
|
See cause have of the city of Sac still ain't accepted
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That I'm a pack and when I'm sweated I'ma put in work
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Cause my OG told me why G's got to kick up some dirt
|
And I'm tired of warnin' a motherfucker about a nigga like me
|
When it's hard to believe
|
the nine millimeter comin' out my pants gonna make you dance
|
See that's the city and it's making a motherfucker stress
|
Gotta watch your back like 24-7
|
unless you wanna be livin' the rest of your life
|
Up in a cemetery die nigga die you'll repeat until you're buried
|
That nine millimeter givin' no motherfuckin' respect
|
Up on your back with your last breathe
|
Welcome to your own death
|
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Chorus x6
|
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-----------------
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Welcome To Your Own Death
|
Brotha Lynch Hung |