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Published on Mar 20, 2011
He's the IIIest!
I got seven Mack 11's, about eight 38's Nine 9's, ten mack tens, the shits never ends You can't touch my riches Even if you had MC Hammer and them 357 bitches Biggie Smalls; the millionare, the mansion, the yacht The two weed spots, the two hot glocks That's how I got the weed spot I shot dread in the head, took the bread and the lamb spread Little Gotti got the shotty to your body So don't resist, or you might miss Christmas I tote guns, I make number runs I give mc's the runs drippin when I throw my clip in the AK, I slay from far away Everybody hit the D-E-C-K My slow flow's remarkable, peace to Matteo Now we smoke weed like Tony Montana sniffed the yeyo That's crazy blunts, mad L's My voice excels from the avenue to jail cells Oh my God, I'm droppin shit like a pigeon I hope you're listenin, smackin babies at they christening