Key: E minor
Verse 1
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Yeah, Mr. Criminal homie,
the fuck you think I'm supposed to be?
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Click, click, bang, it's just the J -Thang,
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the streets vang,
what the fuck I represent homie?
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Yeah
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Let these motherfuckers
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know
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Prime lab pro duction
Produced by Mr. Criminal
Yeah, hittin' levels like where the fuck you from,
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break him off with that 31 drum
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Hit him up with that hollow tip
and leave his lower body numb
Hit him with a thump off the .57,
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a Tommy gun
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Been shot at so many times,
see hidden bullets buzzing, huh?
Father forgive him,
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he just ain't trying to become a victim
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That ghetto living,
they leaving incisions all in children
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No high school for middle school,
it's straight to prison
He had to learn the hard way,
so now he's dripping
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This rap shit, it be my ghetto alibi
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Thank God, pray get to the sky,
because I almost died
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At an early age, before I turned the page
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I used to let off a rage,
in the streets of Bain
Believe me, you don't wanna
be caught slippin'
when I'm drippin'
My homies racin' with mental sickness
and that's the difference
Had only 12,
it's the first time I stuck em'
Broke em' off with number two pencils,
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that's it, fuck em'
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Now you know the homies give a fuck,
runnin' the streets and
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kickin' the dust
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Make the type of music
for the little homies runnin' the mud
And fuck those motherfuckers
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that doubted us
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Like Donald Trump's bitch ass
run up in the crowd and bust
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Lord forgive us
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cause we stuck in these getaways
We put in work and the night
through these ghetto days
Feelin' like I'm stuck in a ghetto maze
No longer my reality
but can't forget those days
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Cold peanut butter out the fuckin' trash
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Rotten milk all in my fuckin' glass
What was that white powder
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in those little bags?
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Why the cops kickin' my door
and they on my ass?
Camino de criminales,
all up in my bloodline
Way before the United States,
before the sunshine
Before the motherfuckin' chases
by the one time
Twelve or thirteen years old,
what the fuck they do in bus nines?
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Not no youngsters on the playground
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Older homies used to teach
these little homies stay down
You see that two -story pad,
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run up all in it
If there was money, I would go get it
Spanky was my crimey,
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memo was my co -defendant
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The little homie Joker
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said he down for life and meant it
Just got out from 16 years in the bed
His baby mama shied out,
God bless his kid
The homie Weasel, rest in peace,
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took you to the weed
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Killed the homie Diablo
behind the store for shit he did
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The street life brings too much karma
Too much drama
like some motherfuckin' baby mamas
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I had to block him,
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sinner hit me from Santanella,
I had to stop him
That ain't my homie,
that's just a crash dump
Levels all lookin' bummy
while I stack this cash money
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And you can run and fuckin' tell him that
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Still with this L .A. Kings on my fuckin' hat
So what the fuck you think I'm
supposed to be?
The king of this gangsta rap shit,
don't get close to me
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And if I wanna start my own clique,
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run this whole shit
Make you motherfuckers exit the zip
Big West, S .L.
Little homies on mission
Send the trash out,
it's the time to wash all the dishes
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And fuck these levers
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I'll
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see the
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Thank you
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TunerE A D G B E
ChordsBbm Ebm Ab
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