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- Free Murda - F.R.E.E. Murda Lyrics
- Uploaded by LOVE4LYRICS at Pastebin.com
- [Intro: Free Murda]
- Yeah, yeah, uh-huh
- Fort Greene, Brooklyn, Bedstuy
- F.R. Double E, Murda
- Yeah.. Murda, check it...
- [Free Murda]
- Check it, as I, step in the club
- Coming to the stage like little Jay Jay
- All my broads is nuts, like Payday
- And when the song's up, they gots to pay me
- The God's up, if you try to play me
- You tighter than Von Dutch, now it's up to the AK
- Shorty your God, in ya lap, you can go with him
- Get 45 in ya Ac', like a cold Philly
- Money, don't get it, honeys gold digging
- Ain't try'nna look funny, pushing an old Civic
- Bummy with no kid-icks, rather rob something
- Then to be up early, going job hunting
- Niggas act girly, want us be they broads fucking
- Hair all curly, like the star functions
- Is that yours? For surely, watch her start sucking
- Drunk off them Bailey's, ready to start something
- [Chrous: Free Murda]
- F.R. Double E, Murda
- F.R.E, Murda
- Yea, that's me, word up
- I know you hear that beat in the club
- That R, Double E, Murda
- F.R.E., Murda
- Yea, that's me, word up
- I know you hear that heat in the club
- [Free Murda]
- Niggas need to cut it out, like Peter try to diesel
- Same niggas down town tryin' on diesel
- Head nodding to my beat, like he high off diesel
- Slobbing down freaks, that combine when they need to
- Tied the bitch, and put that in diesel
- That be ruder, little make-up, don't make you no cuter
- When I move, you move, like Luda
- Try'nna get bruised up, in the club, off my buddha
- So get out your way, shit, I don't pay
- Feel the cushion, especially around the way
- No cake mix, balling and no palm
- Forming like Voltron, you know that's so wrong
- See them tattoo's on my forearm, see, ya'll gon' do what?
- Put ya all in white sheets like the Ku Klux
- Ya'll ain't even see how I grouped up
- With ShaCrizzy, Terra Tory, E-Money, ride with me
- [Chorus]
- [Free Murda]
- Soon as, I, step up out this spizzle
- Hand on my nickel, raise a hand and I hit you
- F.R.E., damn he the issue
- Why he gon' die from the pistol tonight?
- Cuz you know, niggas always try to give you a fight
- And nobody's Lennox Lewis
- My man's is shooters, ride around, shot ya Benz with Rubix
- Ready to clap ya friend in his medula
- Don't give the 411, like Grand Puba
- Give it right there to you, loud as a band with a tuba
- I'm tryin' to see, half a man in Aruba
- Laid back, catching sun tans by the coolers
- And get back rubs, but I ain't fucking with white chicks
- Like the Wayan, all day with the black gloves
- Roll me a fat dub, of that kush
- While ya'll bitches bush bush
- [Chorus]
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