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Tru
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I'm The Funkiest
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Song by Tru
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[Master P] Grew up in the ghetto in Cali Were sellin dope has one technically Tanqueray twice a week 2 keep a nigga like me on the run G Dodging the police side And whatchin the moves that jackers be tryin Mom would cry when I leave the house She said she had a bad dream, a king g took her out She say they caught me one in the chest I said mom did I ever shoot back Now im on the neighborhood alert I pack a fuckin 9 like mom would pack her purse For the suckers tryin to catch me slipin And like short dogg say I aint tripin But I look at life kinda strange And all the old G's tell me all the time P get out the dope game Stick with your raps & go legit And it wont be long till ya make your motherfuckin hit Now that kinda shit kept me pumped I hooked up with the Ski, and C, and T and now I'm the one The one from the bay It started in the rich And moved to the O, to Frisco Now they bumpin my sounds and sack Pittsburg, Palianto, and every damn cadillac From Cinncinati, Kentucky, to Seattle They say my shit just movin like cattle Movin like columbian cargo from Boston to Chicago the play me down In Texas from the low rider, benzmen, to the drop top Lexus Im pumpin in New Orleans, Down South, Alabama, to D.C. All in one year I deliver funky sounds from San Diego, to Denver Delaware were my
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