Key: C major
Intro 1
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Verse 1
As I crush so-called willies, willies,
thugs, and rapper-dons
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F
Get Get in that ass, quick fast, like ramadan
Its that rap phenomenon Don-Dadda,
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In tank-light totes, totes, tote iron
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Was told in shootouts, stay low,
and keep firin
Cm
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C
Keep extra clips for ex tra shit
Who's next to flip,
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on that cat with that grip on rap
The mo shady,
"Tell em!", Frankie baby
Homecoming
With my man Capone, dumbing, fucking
C
something
Went from ten G's for blow
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to thirty G's a show
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To orgies with hoes I never seen before
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If the beef between us, we can settle it
You're delicate, you better get,
who sent ya?
Verse 2
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Kick in the door, waving the four-four
All All you heard was Poppa
Verse 3
don't hit me no more
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Kick in the door, waving the four-four
All All you heard was Poppa
Verse 4
don't hit me no more
C
F
Kick in the door, waving the four-four
All All you heard was Poppa
Verse 5
don't hit me no more
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F
Kick in the door, waving the four-four
don't hit me no more
Verse 6
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On ya mark, get set, when I spark, ya wet
Look how dark it get,
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Should I start your breath should I let you die
In fear you start to cry, ask why
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Lyrically, I'm worser,
don't front the word sick
You cursed it, but rehearsed it
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I drop unexpectedly like bird shit
royalties and show money
I punish em, I'm done with them
Son, I'm surprised you run with them
Trying to blow up like nitro
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an d dynamite sticks
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Mad I smoke hydro rock diamonds,
that's sick
Got pay off my flow,
I know you praying you was rich,
Verse 7
When I see ya I'ma
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Kick in the door, waving the four-four
All All you heard was Poppa
Verse 8
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Kick in the door, waving the four-four
All All you heard was Poppa
Verse 9
don't hit me no more
B
C
F
Kick in the door, waving the four-four
All All you heard was Poppa
Verse 10
don't hit me no more
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F
Kick in the door, waving the four-four
Verse 11
don't hit me no more
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This goes out for those that
choose to use
Disrespectful views on the King of NY
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Fuck that, why try,
throw bleach in your eye
Now ya Braille in it, stash that light shit,
or scalin it
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Conscience of ya nonsense
in eighty-eight
Sold Sold more powder than Johnson
and Johnson
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Tote steel like Bronson, vigilante
rap thing
They siblings,
nothing but my children
One shot, they disappearing
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Its ill when,
MC's used to be on cruddy shit
Took home, Ready to Die,
listened, studied shit
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Now they on some money shit,
successful out the blue
They light weight, fragilly, my nine milly
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Make the white shake,
that's why my money never funny
And you still recouping, stupid
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TunerE A D G B E
ChordsC F Bb Cm E...
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