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The Infamous

If you thought Fiddy didn't oblitirate Ricky already you will now

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lol @ man zoomin into mans pum with a cameraabsolute pisstake

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Looks photoshopped but

lol @ man zoomin into mans pum with a cameraabsolute pisstake
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yea looks fakeeven the lettering on the left doesnt look like the lettering on the right

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I got a feelin nigga, really that my money be the rootLook up at the stars, she like, "Honey, where the roof?"Pull up, hear the dogs, canarie, they goin woofEven once had a job pourin tar up on a roofDat boy had it hard, no facade, it's the truthSo now when I manage and get massaged it's the proofProof's in the pudding and that baking soda takinPaper that'll make her gotta take them photos nakedListenin to niggaz like whistlin at Wendy WilliamsI flip my middle finger, I'm chillin on twenty millionThe rumors turn me on, I'm masturbatin at the topThese hoes so excited, so they catchin every dropI'm dodgin debacles like potholes in JamaicaWe cut down the weed, bury the paper on the 'maicasMartin had a dream, Bob got highI still do both but somehow I got byCreflo prayed, Mike Vick payedBobby Brown stray, Whitney lost weightKimbo Slice on the pad when I writeDat Mayweather +money+ lookin funny in the lightBut who realy cares? We just throw it in the airCelebratin wealth, pourin Moet in her hairExcuse me, her weave, the blue is for weedTrunk full of white, car smell like blue cheeseDat bwoy get salad, beef bowel movementsBM dubs on them big thangs lookin foolishShawty sittin low, +Big Thangs Poppin++Tip+ on the glock from a Crip up in ComptonShootin at the cops, f*ck one-timeI gave her to the block, I f*cked one timeWe +Boys N the Hood+ and nigga you lil' TréSo press ya appetite, we takin ya lil' trayLove my handgun, but my choppa still the sh*tBanned in nineteen nintey fo' but I'm "2 Legit 2 Quit"1996, kilos was the sh*tbut that was better than roofin, that sh*t be bad fo' ya skinNiggaz was ruthless, Lord knows that I sinBut I thought about my future and the loops I could pinWalked out on the gig and I turned to the streetsKept my name low-key, I ain't heard from in weeksI came up wit a strategy to come up mathematicallyI did it for the city but now EVERYBODY MAD AT ME!Motherf*ck 'em all, they sweat from my ballsIf I drop another album, I did that for my dawgsTen Maybachs errbody ridin bigI just sit back like {LOOK WHAT I DID}Then I bow my head and beg for forgivenessOnce I said my prayer, everybody back to businessSmokin on a blunt in my own restaurantPeople lookin from a distance think I'm Big Daddy KunkReincarnated, spirit of a GBeef I'll make you dinner, take a seat so we could eatA Farrakhan aura, pause on the porkYou eat from the bowl, while your dog need a forkNiggaz ain't loyal, snakes slithered in they coilI'm laughin at you cuz, kill you niggaz when I'm bored (yeah!)We steppin on you +Crew+ 'til them motherf*ckers +Crush+and makin sweet love to every women dat ya lustI love to pay ya bills, can't wait to pay ya rentCurtis Jackson baby mama, I ain't askin for a centBurn the house down (nigga), you gotta buy anotherDon’t forget the gas can, jealous stupid motherf*ckerTo another chapter, paper that I capturedCaught up in the rapture off gunshots and laughterHomicide is humor and nigga you lookin funnyWomen love to stare 'cause they know dey see the moneyI open up her mind by openin bank accountsDeposit a hunnid stacks, break-up, won't take it outBaby that's a gift, maybe you could liveI knew it wouldn't work but, I just like to giveUsed to run the street, young nigga bare feetNow I'm in the suites and I'm eatin crab meatsIce so right, other rappers envyThey callin all my jewelers up, askin what he spendin (whaaat?)Thinkin 'bout BOSS, not thinkin bout demThis a letter to my enemies, one I won't sendAmen
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I got a feelin nigga, really that my money be the rootLook up at the stars, she like, "Honey, where the roof?"Pull up, hear the dogs, canarie, they goin woofEven once had a job pourin tar up on a roofDat boy had it hard, no facade, it's the truthSo now when I manage and get massaged it's the proofProof's in the pudding and that baking soda takinPaper that'll make her gotta take them photos nakedListenin to niggaz like whistlin at Wendy WilliamsI flip my middle finger, I'm chillin on twenty millionThe rumors turn me on, I'm masturbatin at the topThese hoes so excited, so they catchin every dropI'm dodgin debacles like potholes in JamaicaWe cut down the weed, bury the paper on the 'maicasMartin had a dream, Bob got highI still do both but somehow I got byCreflo prayed, Mike Vick payedBobby Brown stray, Whitney lost weightKimbo Slice on the pad when I writeDat Mayweather +money+ lookin funny in the lightBut who realy cares? We just throw it in the airCelebratin wealth, pourin Moet in her hairExcuse me, her weave, the blue is for weedTrunk full of white, car smell like blue cheeseDat bwoy get salad, beef bowel movementsBM dubs on them big thangs lookin foolishShawty sittin low, +Big Thangs Poppin++Tip+ on the glock from a Crip up in ComptonShootin at the cops, f*ck one-timeI gave her to the block, I f*cked one timeWe +Boys N the Hood+ and nigga you lil' TréSo press ya appetite, we takin ya lil' trayLove my handgun, but my choppa still the sh*tBanned in nineteen nintey fo' but I'm "2 Legit 2 Quit"1996, kilos was the sh*tbut that was better than roofin, that sh*t be bad fo' ya skinNiggaz was ruthless, Lord knows that I sinBut I thought about my future and the loops I could pinWalked out on the gig and I turned to the streetsKept my name low-key, I ain't heard from in weeksI came up wit a strategy to come up mathematicallyI did it for the city but now EVERYBODY MAD AT ME!Motherf*ck 'em all, they sweat from my ballsIf I drop another album, I did that for my dawgsTen Maybachs errbody ridin bigI just sit back like {LOOK WHAT I DID}Then I bow my head and beg for forgivenessOnce I said my prayer, everybody back to businessSmokin on a blunt in my own restaurantPeople lookin from a distance think I'm Big Daddy KunkReincarnated, spirit of a GBeef I'll make you dinner, take a seat so we could eatA Farrakhan aura, pause on the porkYou eat from the bowl, while your dog need a forkNiggaz ain't loyal, snakes slithered in they coilI'm laughin at you cuz, kill you niggaz when I'm bored (yeah!)We steppin on you +Crew+ 'til them motherf*ckers +Crush+and makin sweet love to every women dat ya lustI love to pay ya bills, can't wait to pay ya rentCurtis Jackson baby mama, I ain't askin for a centBurn the house down (nigga), you gotta buy anotherDon’t forget the gas can, jealous stupid motherf*ckerTo another chapter, paper that I capturedCaught up in the rapture off gunshots and laughterHomicide is humor and nigga you lookin funnyWomen love to stare 'cause they know dey see the moneyI open up her mind by openin bank accountsDeposit a hunnid stacks, break-up, won't take it outBaby that's a gift, maybe you could liveI knew it wouldn't work but, I just like to giveUsed to run the street, young nigga bare feetNow I'm in the suites and I'm eatin crab meatsIce so right, other rappers envyThey callin all my jewelers up, askin what he spendin (whaaat?)Thinkin 'bout BOSS, not thinkin bout demThis a letter to my enemies, one I won't sendAmen
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dislike the use of white and red on that cover

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that girl is fitbut her face is like some rebore rhiannaass is alot

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"you shoulda f*cked her"

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f*ck thatthat is more than a violationshe is ultimate slack aswellthis is someones mother

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still rate Rick Ross more than 50....Rick Ross is deeper than rap....

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