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T-Dog - C.R.I.P. lyrics

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This compton baby!!!
I swear yalk think we crazy
But thats all cuz I be crippin
You all be trippin
Tripin over your own ballsack
This is where your road stops, a roadblock
Bang bang you die
Cuz When we get high
No tellin what well' do to ya
But we ain't mad at cha
We juat pop people wearin red
You should know yo own set
But this only happens after 114 freeway
Over here people die everyday
Wheher its the west side or the east side
By 12 someone has already died
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This is banging in watts
More props. r.i.p., my poor pops
sh** time to do a drive-by on the bounty hunter bloods
Can we take shots while we doin this?what's your flavor? flat drinks we call a cups
We doin this while we drunk
Some n***as ain't got no luck
Oh shot ten n***as
I put on my knickers
Time for another drive - on fruit town
All i wanted to do was get that trick down
Oh sh** here come the cops
Why ain't my aks goin to talk f** it ill use a Glock
We back in the hood, crips shootin pigs everywhere
Just all out warfare
Every set, the rollin sets, grape street, pj watts, santana blocc, and south compton crips
Sooner or later all these cops gonna trip
Alright we lost the po po
sh**m now we gotta hide out like a hobo

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