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    feat. G-Unit)

    [50]
    Yeah.. Ja, you ready? Drop that
    Ferrari F 50 style baby (yeah, yeah)
    I'ma show 'em how I do it (yeah, yeah)
    G-g-g-g-g G-UNIT!

    I keep hearin' niggas is happy, the D's come, niggas wit guns
    When I'm out on bail, ridin' wit' some new ones
    Big got hit in that passenger seat
    Pac got hit in that passenger seat
    Now I'm ridin' 'round in that passenger seat
    Come near the whip, I'm blastin' my heat
    It don't take long, for my juvenile delinquent thinkin' to sink
    in
    The consequences mean nothin', those semi auto's is bustin'
    Crack sellin', predicate villain, spit big words but I can't
    spell 'em
    Put a shot to your melon, that'll keep you're punk ass from
    chillin'
    Then I got that nine and a fo'-fo', that H2 is never full
    Bullet proof windows and doors, gangsta how 'bout yours
    Southside tatted on my back
    My last gun shipment got the whole hood strapped
    Now all I got is two 380's and a nine
    Nigga you can knock and tell the cops but you're dyin'

    [Chorus - repeat 2X]
    You're thicker than water
    Ouch! twizzy wizzy wa
    You're thicker than water
    Ouch! twizzy wizzy wa
    You're thicker than water
    Ouch! twizzy wizzy wa
    You can be a Blood or a Crip
    Nigga, you bitch
    Follow Me

    [Tony Yayo]
    I used to chill in the hood, to support the fiends
    But now I'm eatin' caviar instead of pork and beans
    I'm in the money green 7-45, with 7 shots in the fo' five
    Y'all niggas wanna die?
    I got a love affair, wit' violence and guns
    So this is for them gangstas, rep' where you from
    When I got O'd up, my heart turned colder
    That's why the mac react like a king cobra
    Now I'm jumpin' out of Rovers, in Gucci loafers
    Y'all niggas wanna stun? I'll bury you cockroaches
    Gimme one year, in this industry
    I'll buy enough guns to declare war on a small country

    [Chorus]

    [Lloyd Banks]
    Still walk around wit' the hammer boss
    Rope and a cross
    Hard times'll make a lil' nigga hate Santa Claus
    Your mountains is high, holdin' in Diana Ross
    I'm like a 2003 banana Porsche
    I don't gotta hide sluts, to get your ties cut
    They on my dick, 'cause I make groupies set off a fire truck
    My team in the cutt, packin' middle things
    I got more foreign shooters than the Sacramento Kings
    It's 8 class karats in the border
    I poke holes in plastic, to avoid a vaginal disorder
    I'm a savage on your daughter
    She ain't in the college dorm
    Then I guess I'm squirtin' on the cabin that you bought her
    I'm a heavy weed smoker, so the average is a quarter
    Brown colored from shit, he established in the water
    You got Banks on your jersey, you part of my fan base
    Just 'cause you pour syrup on shit, don't make it pancakes

    [Chorus]

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    É permitida somente a visualização no site das letras de músicas encontradas aqui, vedada sua reprodução através de quaisquer outros meios (Lei 9610/98).Todas as letras de músicas são propriedade dos seus respectivos autores e divulgadas somente para fins educacionais.All lyrics are property and copyright of their owners. All lyrics are provided for educational purposes only.