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Money, Power, Respect

This song is by C-Bo, features Spider Loc and appears on the album Blocc Movement (2001) by Brotha Lynch Hung and C-Bo.

C-Bo, Floss B, hehe yeah money, power, respect
Yeah yeah uh huh, uh huh West Coast uh huh West Coast uh huh
Other side you know how we ride, uh what?

(Vesre One)
Oh my god, times here are so hard
Baby brothers in trouble and mothers got no cards
The oldest of the pack got to bring the food back
I'm packin a magnum on one of the hottest corners, movin' sacks
Duckin from one-times, life in the blind got me pointin 9's
Squeezing triggers for freedom and dimes
My homie Tone caught a bullet in his chest
They said they heard he was pullin in the west
Retaliation is a must that we run 'em down
Wit fully loaded high powered rifles and gun 'em down
Everyday in my city some where someone bites the dust
If you here hope you with a city nigga you be trust

We down for Money, Power, Respect
How much you hold on yo neck?
How much you roll on that Lex?

(Verse Two)
You know it's crackin' on the Southside so I hopped in my Reagle
With the homie Lil Stoke and ofcourse my Desert Eagles
And it's like an All-Star Game I mean we 10 to 1 with business
And we platinum down surrounded by killers sittin' on switches
Ain't that a bitch? You set trip you bound to get set
I'ma get my respect nigga I don't give a fuck what town it is
'Cause I'ma respect yours and you gon' respect mines
And if it ain't correct I'ma check with the tech 9
Nigga I'm a Thug Lord ask my mama
Yeah these niggas got it made but they don't want no motherfuckin' mama
No fuckin' drama, no comma
As I bounce in my rounce with a mirror on the trunk of my big black ass

(Verse Three)
Connect the dots I done shot through my enemies spot
Then you can plot to get half of the stripes that I got
My Chuck T's tongues tucked, hung for the sprung clubs
Duck or get struck, no luck with this young buck
Young truck, how the fuck I look in the sell stuck?
Dick in a man's hands gettin' my nuts sucked
I'm bossed bangin', leavin' all those crossed hangin'
Slangin death at a high cost, that's nina ross hangin'
Do, re, me, fa, so, la, say hola to the misses
Bow down and kiss this pistola
Run up wit ya gun up and get done up
I'm one up, from sun down to sun up I ain't givin' none up

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