[Intro:]
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Yeah, this is a kite goin' to all my homeboys
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locked up in the penitentiary federal and state
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We ain't forgot about you, my life long wish
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is for all my real niggaz to feel me
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Yeah, ya know, I gotta put it on the streets man
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That's what I live and die for - the streets, yeah ..
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[Verse 1:]
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Out on them streets I put my life on the line
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Between these sheets I put my life in them lines
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Crooked reciting these rhymes
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Givin' sight to the blind
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In the dark my recital will shine light in ya mind
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Like God cipher divine
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I'm a fight for my kind
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Nigga, surviving the grind
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With a sniper designed, rifle aligned right for ya mind
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I target a man
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I was thuggin' before I became a marketing plan
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Cover my heart with my hand, and vow
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To keep it real, can't [?] ya [?]
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Target the hearts of the fan, like the archer is part of the plan
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Man, my loved ones who restin' in peace
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They couldn't peak at the peak I was destined to reach
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Through expressing a speech
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I'm the essence of each O.G. before me
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They gave me lessons to teach
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I'm Pablo, you can't measure the reach
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A cop-ho, fuck gestapo, arrest the police
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Death to the beast
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A renegade menace, niggaz witness the birth
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Every listener's a prisoner, til I finish the verse
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Every minute I'm spittin, you sittin' in a ministers church
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You niggaz is bitches, I'm militant, I'm liftin' ya skirt
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Society's prejudice, fuck it, all hope is lost
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To piss 'em off, I do what you call "over-floss"
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That's the reason the Benz got all chrome exhaust
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They hate a ghetto nigga, cigar-smokin' boss
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I'm crazy! Put me on a therapist couch
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I've seen stomach shots leave a nigga wearin' a pouch
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I've seen people's parents parish for careless amounts
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So what's the starin' and the swearin' about?
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This unfair character 'll stick his derringer square in ya arrogant mouth
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I'm darin' ya, coz you apparently doubt
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That I will merrily bury ya, without care when the sheriffs is out
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And go that devout terrorist route
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You box, I shoot glocks, we just don't compare in a bout
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A shot caller
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I'm airin' you out
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A boss baller
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Crooked I, you know I'm wearing Cartier in a drought
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We live from ghetto America's house
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Where the police get a paid vacation for kickin' niggaz ass
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So 3rd strikers see the cop and let the trigger blast
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There's so much pain in a nigga's past
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We finna eat til we sick of cash
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Me and my killaz finna mash for real, til we open them doors
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It's young boss, sincerely yours! (sincerely yours)
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[Hook:]
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P.S. - Real niggaz know they gotta grind
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B.S. - Bullshit will get you left behind
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E.S. - East Side ride everytime
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P.S. - Real niggaz know they gotta grind
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[Outro:]
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Yeah, it's a kite goin' to all my homeboys in the penitentiary
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I ain't forgot about you
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Yeah, revolutionary - yeah ... but gangsta
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The federal crime bill is full of pages to keep us in cages
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The government got a plan for you niggaz, you better keep your eyes open
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yeah, ya know
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I see you rappers on TV, you grease monkeys
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You mothafuckers greased up with all them tattoos and ya shirt off
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You point a gun at me, but not a C.O. - P
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Yeah, you soft as cotton
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East Side Long Beach - we revolutionary
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We revolutionary... but gangsta
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-----------------
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The Kite
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Crooked I |