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"Your Way" lyrics by THE DIPLOMATS
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"Your Way"

[Verse 1: J. R. Writer]
Yo, I ain't gonna frunt I always thought he was a survivor, shells and rounds held him down why why he was in the fire, the feds gotta tat from the sneaker to the tire, just like Kanye west speakin threw the wire, like don't forget make sure he speakin into the wire, the way he was singin he would be up in a choir, when I find em I'm a put the heater the his vilda, all he gon see is the screetchin on the tire, up the block bang a right make a left, thang I like made him stretch, candle lites, grave and set, not only that tho all his weight was wet, hustle dummys fuck the money and was way in debt.

[Verse 2: Juelz Santana]
It was all good just a week ago, we was together smokin, heller reefer smoke all in the vechile, I got the word back he was in the vechile, with the ds I bet he thought we was low, dam this nigga spent the night in my crib sat in my moms kitchen now he go off snitchin, but this is my man I can just stop fuckin with him, like I'm just not fuckin with him, or just pop one up in him.plus there's rules here if you play where the rats play, you gotta go you must lay where the rats lay, hate to see a nigga that I broke bread with, his hole head split, cold hes dead stick him.

[Verse 3: Cam'ron]
See we appose when we slap box, then we throw the crack rocks, jackpot, golden roves, when we drove the drag drops, durag top awk, we cut the cheese together, let gos, they egos, we went to chucky cheese together, we watched chucky sucky ducky, we was lucky, had a huffy, and a buggy, sold thugs twenty threes to whoever, now he got the nerve to get laZy watch me serve a quack a herb, now he gettin jealous cause I'm coppin birds, and he wird like money gram I got the dodge, went to the spot store so I watch whos watchin, and you thinkin that cams sweet, dam the street, fuck rock he ran asleep, I'm cuttin off his hands and feet, and his glands and teeth, get a mission your done, done, this bitch is the one who told me to christian my son, and the musscle type, he went and tussled fright, fucked up his juggle he could'nthussle right should of came for a loan you no that's scrillers life, fo it's I'll tonite killa gotta kill his wife, yup for dressin homie, won't say he left her lonely, seen some transactions, don't need
A testomony, and I'm no punk, il pump that bastard when I dump, yull get bumped, get him, bump that casket.and a brother just smiled I jus got him a ditch, another motherless child cause they fathers a snitch

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