LETRA
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YeahTurn it upYeah, turn the vocal upLight work like it's PWCIt's a cold world, keep the heat under your seatI got a phone call, they say that somebody dissin'You want some attention, it come with extensionsMy dog like: Say the word, he on bullshit, he itchin'Done put in so much work in these streets, he got pensionI told him chill out, how I look havin' henchman?If shots get to poppin', I'm the one doin' the clenchin'I came up in the 'Ville, so I'm good when it's tensionHe still doin' shows, but fell off like the SimpsonsYour first shit was classic, your last shit was tragicYour second shit put niggas to sleep, but they gassed itYour third shit was massive and that was your primeI was trailin' right behind and I just now hit mineNow I'm front of the line with a comfortable leadHow ironic, soon as I got it, now he want somethin' with meWell, he caught me at the perfect time, jump up and seeBoy, I got here off of bars, not no controversyFunny thing about it, bitch, I don't even want the prestigeFuck the Grammys 'cause them crackersain't never done nothin' for me, hoSlugs took my nigga's soul, drugs took another oneThe rap beef ain't realer than the shit I seen in CumberlandHe averagin' one hard verselike every thirty months or somethin'If he wasn't dissin', then we wouldn't be discussin' 'emLord, don't make me have to smoke this nigga'cause I fuck with himBut push come to shove, on this mic, I will humble himI'm Nino with this thing, this that New Jack City memeYeah, I'm aimin' at G-Moneycryin' tears before I bust at himLight work like it's PWCIt's a cold world, keep the heat under your seatI got a phone call, they say that somebody dissin'You want some attention, it come with extensionsMy dog like: Say the word, he on bullshit, he itchin'Done put in so much work in these streets, he got pensionI told him chill out, how I look havin' henchman?If shots get to poppin', I'm the one doin' the—(Conductor, conductor, conductor)I got mixed feelings 'bout these fuckin' rap niggasIt's over for that cap, the official cap peelersTwo-six, we don't at niggas, we get at niggasShoot a nigga lights out, yeah, my dogs stat fillersStat stuffers, triple double, get your ass black duffledBody bag, body bag, body bagCold world, your instructor for pilates classGet a nigga stretched if I feel the disrespect, uhYour arms might be too short to box with the GodWho live his life without the pressures of a constant facadeI pray for peace, but if a nigga cease these positive vibesA Falcon 9 inside my pocket, bitch, this rocket gon' flyNow it's poppin' outside like the top of JulyMy text flooded with the hunger for a toxic replyI'm hesitant, I love my brother, but I'm not gonna lieI'm powered up for realthat shit would feel like swattin' a flyFour albums in twelve years, nigga, I can divideShit, if this is what you want, I'm indulgin' in violencePut pictures in my home, aim the chrome at your eyelidsFly pebbles at your dome, we the Stone Temple PilotsThis is merely a warning shot to back niggas downBack in the town where they whippin' workand traffickin' poundsMy Jack jumpin' 'bout a rapper makin' blasphemous soundsSwitchin' sides like the tassle on the cap and the gownI'm fully loaded, nigga, I can drop two classics right nowHah, let me chill out, man (Conductor)The Fall Off on the way, nigga
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