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Search results for 'going wrong by 2pac'

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that 2Pac (Pac)
(Am I wrong cause I wanna get it on till I die?)
It's that 2Pac (2Pac)
(Am I wrong cause I wanna get it on till I die?)
It's that
hands up high
R.i.p. To 2Pac
Get yo' hands up high, hands up high, hands up high
***** roll that good ****
Get yo' hands up high, hands up high, hands
wanted to save the hood, they understood why he was trying
He took a stand and said what he had to say
Bang, he got blown away

2Pac Shakur was more
Brothers know the flavs when the Quest gets loose
Slamming sucker fuckers like the wrestler Zeus
Crazier than 2Pac in the flick called Juice
Cock
they see me as 2Pac the don
And this bitch with 2 Glocks, I'm wrong
The homie still gon' roll and standin' with your biggest G
You still gon' fold, I
(whoa)
I guess I'm just here for your amusement (yeah)

You've seen it all before, guys know how the story goes
It's like 2Pac never died, sit back,
bow down
I’m a Boondock Saint wearing tube socks a new Glocc
And 2Pac playin'
you ready for my hottie 

2pac 2pac, hip hop 
Sticks down wit' that underground funk. 
With a pocket full of skunk. 
Come hear now babe. 
You been
done to me 
Gangsta Nip, Spice 1 or 2Pac never gave a gun to me 
So gangsta rap ain't done shit for that 
I've even seen white folks from River Oaks
tube socks spraying from the rooftops
92’ props
Banging for my blue tops
It’s me and you Ock, Biggie verses 2Pac
And you forgot
I’m the one who let you
block you prolly bred a Fat Pat or 2Pac
Or Big Pun, or B.I., ya homeboys from knee, high
And even when it was storming outside, that nigga'd be by
That's
stomp the nigga two minutes long
Know I'm repping West side, putting you in the song, damn
2Pac got smoked by Baby Lane
And both of them niggas dead
Mister, that Mister, Bobby Bands

Mr. Long, Mr. Get-Her-Wrong, Mr. Sing-A-Song
Hit the bong, Mr. Cheech and Chong, Mr. In-My-Zone
Mr. 2Pac Herringbone,
problems and now everybody on my block's got 'em 
I'm screaming like those two cops when 2pac shot 'em 
Holding two glocks, I hope your door got new locks
direction that left me in true shock
Like when 2Pac got shot
The whammy
I drop my secrete scripts of the uncanny
Broadcastin' live and direct throughout
like a hoop star
Black marble, white walls in my new spot
Four chains, big studs, a nigga too fly
Top down, tank top, I think I'm 2Pac
So I'm labeled
'Cause I give them everything, 
But they still want more, 
And 2pac crew when they die they care more, 
But I ain't tryna die to sell, 
But I ain't
to the soundtrack of 2pac
I’ll beat you to a pulp no fiction
Tarantino flow new Jules and Vincent
Blow marijuana smoke no incense
Exhale in the face of innocent
the government can't stand us
Running from the police
Let me proceed
A letter to the pen
Respect to my OGs
I keep saying
Fuck the music in my radio
2pac
of dick
Only faithful to my bros
My rights and my wrongs
Some nights I play, 2Pac and zone
Pop on my phone, selling and flipping
Bounce to my own
True
the remission for all of our sins

When I was a young one the preacher put oil on my sixth chakra (sixth chakra)
He knew when I was older I'd wanna follow 2Pac
wanna dance
Now what that be for, you're on that reefer and on that 2Pac
In front of them oooh wops, trying to show out, that's the ho route
Talking
everything in the 

Someone help me please universe within the light 

Someone help me! Understanding 

They already did 2Pac My children, all six
my nigga seeing 6 figures
Black bottles popping when I'm on the turf
Two private Jets what this nigga's worth

Atlanta, Miami, Rosé
We like 2Pac
Two private Jets what this nigga's worth

Atlanta, Miami, Rosé
We like 2Pac infante
They sent my nigga on house arrest
I'm coming through nigga