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    The name F-R-Double the E
    The gat hack, are, end where the cops'll clip
    Back, flip, hands spring semi your V
    You callin' all, and run to the cops
    Don't make me wet y'all, with what's under the t-shirt
    The heat hurt, blew off ya front porch, your backyard
    Ya'll niggaz like dicks, pause
    Thick jaws, act hard, so they keep squirting
    I move work often, like when New York couldn't beat Boston
    Controllin' the nets, I float on ya block
    Hop out, post up, move rocks often
    Shut the shot down, pass it to Chris
    If your boss got twelve on the neck, ten in the arm
    And my gat at the end of my arms, hittin' the clip prick
    Flippin' ya vet, causin' you harm, nigga
    Ya'll need a place of respect, we runnin' shit

    [Chorus: Faith Evans]
    The name F-R-Double the E, tell 'em
    Don't really wanna cross the line and
    I don't wanna have to tell ya twice, and
    Trick, R-O-C bring trouble your way
    W-A-to the Y, tell 'em
    Lean back, don't slow up
    Freeway gets no love
    Trick, R-O-C bring trouble this parts

    F-R-E, bubble the ride, and in all
    Came from takin' the trip, stuffin' the ride, yea
    I'ma ride it on every of your ride
    Caught in every broad or market, park it, hop out in deer crew
    The heat is on perfect, tuckin' the linin'
    I'm fine and trynna get some tickets for sliding
    Freeway's in full effect
    And all these bitches want some millions just to hear my rhyme
    And I don't gotta boss 'em to give nectar
    The boy give check-ups, I get neck, when I don't ask
    When mami's with the ax, make my baby momma ask
    Look, that's the crime, and I
    Don't wanna force y'all to give checks, uh
    Without tax, Freeway shoot ya from ya head to ya toe
    From ya toes to ya neck
    That's what the boy brought, extra large


    Freeway bring trouble to soloists
    The sawed off split, get the fuck outta dodge
    Know this, I came from nothing, so ain't nothing for my gauge to duck
    You punks, get outta line, and I cock back, bloody ya tee
    Pull ya top back, drive through at McDonald's
    In front of Ronald, put ya brains on ya Big Mac, make
    sure the bitch don't leave
    I got a gat and a clip in each sleeve
    With boxers, so my dick can breathe
    Breeze through in the '89, delt with my boys with my whistle on freeze
    That's how you know I got the block on smash
    Act up, I put your stripper on freeze
    Me and Sieg', like Snoop and Daz
    Because tricks that fuck, couldn't give me the ass
    And they roll up, light up, pass me the trees, come on


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