[Yung Joc]
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What it is man (sup?)
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Yung Joc, Block Entertainment
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Yeah, you wan' know somethin? (What'chu wanna know nigga?)
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I'ma take this motherfuckin time to let y'all niggaz know
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I'm tired of playin games.. I'm tired of playin wit'chu man
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(Preach on) Y'all niggaz comin up short on your money
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Your re-up shit ain't right (nope, nope)
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Your grams off nigga, get that shit right
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(Tell 'em shawty) Let me talk to y'all
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This ain't make believe so why the fuck is you playin
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You better listen close to what the fuck I'm sayin
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Cause really all it takes is a couple grand
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Like AT&T I reach out and I touch a man
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Or I can let it go cause it ain't nuttin man
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But naw it's the principle so fuck what you sayin
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E'ry dollar I want it, e'ry dime I need that
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So when it's time to break bread gimme no feedback (shhh)
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Cause you don't want to piss me off
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And I get to poppin like we poppin Cristal
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See I cain't help it, that's just how we get down
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Let off a couple rounds, turn your smile to a frown
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Yeahhh I know, you think I'm bluffin
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'Til I kick the do' and the goons they rush in
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Lay down on the flo' where you keep the coke in
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You say "I don't know" then your blood start gushin
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[Chorus 2X: Yung Joc]
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I done told your ass once (once) told your ass twice (twice)
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Fuckin with my paper, you're fuckin wit'cha life (wit'cha life)
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Don't play with it (blam) don't play with it (blam)
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Don't play with it (blam) nigga don't play with it (blam)
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[Big Gee]
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Here he come once again Mr. Murder Man
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Smokin on the purple bad, pistol in my other hand
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Fuckin with my rubberbands get your ass murdered fast
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Chop you up and chop ya, then stuff ya in a duffel bag
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Ride wit'cha in the trunk 'til ya smellin bad
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Get your daughter after class, ride by snatch her ass
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I know a pussy nigga owe me a couple stack
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Pop him like he never had, but the nigga holdin back (nah)
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I ain't trippin now I'm lettin 'em pass, got that ass
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So I'm in the good, nigga smokin like a thermostat
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Flashin hella stacks, pie nigga Pontiac
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Actin for these hoes with my money, what kinda shit is that?
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I ain't feelin that, pay me for my fuckin pack
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E'ry dime off e'ry zone, don't gimme that (nah)
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See it time for the chrome, go on pull it out
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Sad Sunday service for the sucker in the parking lot
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[Chorus]
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[Yung Joc]
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Better know the repercussions fuckin with my dividends
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Yeah I got a hitman for the hitmen
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Leave your baby momma numb and I touch many fans
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If ye ain't tryin to see it I suggest you start prayin
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All I'm sayin; don't try to play me like I'm soft
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Treat you like mosquitoes when I skeet you with that Off
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That Joc crawl blood, nigga call me Red Cross
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Leave your wig leakin like you spilled spaghetti sauce
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[repeat 2X]
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Fuckin with my paper - ye ain't right
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I'ma send them gators - in the middle of the night
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Let 'em split your tater - in front your wife
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No one can save ya - put out your lights
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[Chorus]
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[voice speaking over Chorus to end]
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C'mon man
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That ain't how you do the shit bruh
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Out'chea playin with a nigga money and shit
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That ain't the shit to be fuckin with
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It's hard out'chea in these streets nigga
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Fuckin people fuckin wit'cha
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Niggaz rattin and shit
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That ain't what's up dawg
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It's the big dawg Diesel
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Yung Joc in the building, ya heard me?
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-----------------
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Don't Play Wit It
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Yung Joc |