Lyrics
Bang, bang, bang It's the ambassador of rap's massacre Preserved with my chest poked out Like I just walked out of Attica, swerve Homie, I ain't mad at ya, do what you do Sick of them tight-ass jeans But I don't want to bat at ya Stay in my lane, me and fame, the antidote An OG, dang, double visions of Earl Manigault Not just a hot song Not just a sick quote Not just your local shit Not just above dope, MO
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