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Old Thing Back Pt. 2
[Juelz Santana:] Don Q, where you at? What it do, these rap niggas is wack I
want that old thing back Yeah, I
want that old thing back [Don Q:] You now see, my style mean, I
ain't into you Seeing murders, fucked up my child's dreams Got caught sleeping, nigga, I
ain't on a
Xanny Crack come in, like candy Cold in New York, got Miami on the
bench Brandy, and her best friend, Tammy, tryna get me Run through that money, treat that shit like a
marathon Quit it with the
happy talk, treat my luggage like a
cary-on Hit the
club with my carots on, make these hoes wanna come along You ain't gotta act, it's real if I
have it on You be shitten on them with that X53, we had it in the
streets, pull up with this Keef I
switch a
check on the
piece, nigga, I
never sleep 30,000 for the
Lui, never take a
receipt I'm a
real broncks nigga, west side to be exact We ain't at the
party, bring the
party to where we at Imma pull up to the
scene, in the
rari, with the
strap Smoken in the
car, with a
barby in the
back No shit, before rap, it was sell chips On that road shit, til a
nigga homesick Remember back, I
was in the
trap, with the
stove lit Sellin crack to a
feend, so I
could get my shit Santana, get back to the
bandana These rap niggas is wack I
want that old thing back I
want that old thing back I
want that old thing back [Juelz Santana:] Santana, bandana, back on tl Too much sauce, too much swagger, might spill Too much talk, the
hawk, the
mac might drill Big white bens, looking like crack on weals All this ice on, I
got chills All these things got me flexin on them, now I
know how PopPop feels Getting to the
chicken, like a
Popeyes meal Connected everywhere, like I
got a
wifi deal Gotta watch them niggas that's close to you They the
same ones riding in the
Ghost with you Hating on the
low, htinking about ghosting you Same ones that smoke with you, choke with you Boy, I
came to bring the
pain, put niggas to shame The
whole planet gonna remember my name It's all for respect, not fame Don't play with me, give them rope, they still can't hang with me Pass the
baton, they still can't race with me So far ahead of these niggas, they still chacing me I
wouldn't be surprised if niggas ghost writers got ghost writers, nothing seeses to amaze me Ladies used to care, even though they was raping me Now it's 360 deals, modern day slavery Fuck you paying me, I'm the
one recording Won't settle for extortion, or fame over forchin Game done changed, sound done changed All these niggas sound the
same, the
word loyalty don't even sound the
same Good thing that when I
keep the
pound, it bang, and it always sound the
same Time to ame at the
game, pure shower, mane Neck full of water, lke I
drowned my chain Flyer than a
nigga jumping out a
plain Higher than you niggas, you can't find the
strain Better than you niggas, that's without saying The
money like the
work, we don't count, we weigh Cause now we aming, blazing, flaming Gun big as a
showerhead, you don't want me spraying Enough with the
mumbo jumbo, Santana back though, can I
get a
drum roll Whole lot of cush, and it's stuffed in the
front hole Feends still say my work tastes like Gumbo Yeah, bring that old thing back I
was tought to wip it up, and bring that whole thing back When I
was pumping coke, you was jumping rope I
was running out of bags, you was playing tag While you was hop scotching, I
was drop shopping At the
dealer, paying cash for them pink tags While you was pop locking, I
was gloc popping Getting to the
cash, brown paper bags Blowing money fast, it'd never last Make it fast, then make it back Haters gonna suffer, I'm ok with that All this garbage, time to throgh away the
trash
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