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capone-n-noreaga – not stick you part 2 lyrics


(phone ringing, noreaga speaking with unknown woman)
who the f-ck is that?
ayo, p-ss my phone
those b-tches calling you now?
it ain’t no b-tch. no b-tches even got my number

see i was wakin’ up
out of my sleep, holdin’ my heat
got a call from khadafi sayin’ “call me back papi”
i rushed to the bathroom to bust me a leak
charged my phone for a second ‘cause i knew it was deep
i know trag, and trag ain’t afraid of no beef
but he f-ck with bottom-feeders and them n-gg-s is creeps (true)
called him back, he ain’t answer, i got a little worried
text messaged him quick, said “call me back, hurry!”
i rolled a blunt and i tried to relax
this n-gg- put me on, gotta show him love, that’s facts
phone rang, and i picked up, like “what up slime?”
[tragedy khadafi]
peace god, i’m in miami, don’t take it in vain
on biscayne with three italian b-tches goin’ insane
i said god, no disrespect, while i’m smokin’ this joint
but it’s late night, n-gg- gotta get to the point
[tragedy khadafi]
won’t make a long story longer, so i’ll cut to the chase
f-ckin’ with the boss wife, the b-tch showed me the safe
it ain’t a shock, i got some haitian n-gg-s out in opa-locka
and some goons up in overtown, they’ll do it proper
but the thing is, they don’t wanna what they work for
they just wanna k!ll shit
n-gg-s never out of line, they just wanna k!ll shit
[tragedy khadafi]
real talk, real spit gorilla shit in my vibe
i g’ed her for the combination and i saw bout nine
i ain’t talkin’ [???], this is actual facts
matter of fact, i’ma boomerang ‘pone on this jack

[tragedy khadafi]
ayo slime, what up man? i’m boomeranging you, man, ‘cause i got off the phone with the deuce and all that. (aight, what he saying?) you know slime on this good guy shit. i got three b-tches, i got three bangin’ italian b-tches, n-gg-. look, we can bring this shit back, forward and all that, the aura’s gracious
one b-tch is from star island, my n-gg-. the other b-tch? she from motherf-ckin’ coconut grove. and the b-tch i’m f-ckin’ wit’, feel me, she from motherf-ckin’ golden beach, son
this shit is poppin’, my n-gg- (wh-ssup?!)
word is born, i need you

got some n-gg-s in the grove
gun stay hot as the stove
my little haiti n-gg-s out of control
all they need is a whereabout to air it out
escape to the stash house in west palm
chill mahdi, you know we do this best calm
word to my left arm
you my right hand
we in it for life, fam
just give me the address
my n-gg-s right there in a white van
i spoke to cadeuce
he was like, d-mn, slime caught up in a light jam
i be there in a minute
my mind zonin’, thinkin’ ’bout all of them stacks
made a call to my [???] had to give ‘em my facts
“rich boss and my n-gg- f-ckin’ his wife
he know where the safe at
but yo, we gotta thug ‘em tonight
here’s the game plan, she gonna let him know when his plane land
and text slime the code to the gate and the door
you could hide in the closet ‘cause the safe in the floor”
fast forward ‘bout nine pm
he pulled up in a lime bm
puffin’ a cuban cigar
made his way to the boro and the door’s ajar
my n-gg- hopped out, threw the heat to his face
“me nah wan’ hurt you, bwoy
where the key to the safe?”
he gave it up quick
lookin’ at these n-gg-s with dreads
knowin’ one false move they probably fill him with lead
took the bread, hopped back in the whip
in about 45 minutes met the whole team back on the strip
split the loot up – 85 racks apiece
we got it in, my n-gg-s
now let’s feast