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Artist: The Outfit (Baby Jay, Lickel Reg, Chedda Boy & Crisis)
Album:  Violator - The Album V2.0
Song:   Die 3
Typed by: OHHLA Webmaster DJ Flash

Buncha pussies! .. Straight pussies!

I know what you thought..
Die 3, Die 3 - you fuckin with me, Die 3
Die 3, Die 3 - you fuckin with me, Die 3
Yeah Die 3, Die 3 - when you fuckin with me, Die 3
Ya ya, ya ya, ya ya..

(Pussies! You know what I'm talkin about?)
(Those two bitches I fucked with, you feel me?)

Yo, yo
(Really, reality - they ain't feminine, you feel me?)
(Uhhhhh, I don't know what the fuck..
 I ought to even tell y'all about them faggots man)
Fuck it, tell 'em

[Verse One]
I don't know how to begin to tell ya
how we had provolone cheese, muenster, swiss, mozzarella
Bad light skinned bitches, call 'em Old Yeller
Snitch to your girl, bitches call 'em hoe-tellers
Trust me, any nigga talk about us don't know better
Never heard them tales how we throw them shells
And how we never seen again after we post our bail
Need twenty million nigga just to close my deal
You know why? I think big, Alpha motto gotta think kid
Get dough until it's leakin like Cheese Whiz
Beef be the salsa, murder somethin gotta do
Even if it haunts ya
Cats attack nice guys, scared of the monsters
Alpha nigga ride with it, side with it, or die by it

Die 3, Die 3 Die 3 Die 3
Why you fuckin with me?
Die 3, Die 3 Die 3 Die 3
Why you fuckin with me?
Die 3, Die 3 Die 3 Die 3
Why you fuckin with me?
Die 3, ya ya, ya ya, ya ya

(Chedda Boy, take it man)

[Verse Two: Chedda Boy]
Uhh, nine times out of ten I lay back and watch the world spin
I hit it first now I'm gettin at her girlfriend
That's the Chedda Boy for ya, look black?
But the crib filled with Goya, Sassoon and Adobo
You don't know we put six on doors
Dick to whores, talk slick I click the four
Spit for all my bad, and straight to plate grinders
Shoot craps with old timers, and beg for knowledge
Let it soak in, Chedda Boy done focusin
I know you noticed when, I used to hustle records
Now I hustle the wheel, of a big Lexus
I'm the thing in the hood, these bitches wanna sex this
Young, well connected, Outfit rider
Never switch side up, until the crossroad divide us
We gon' hold it down cousin, and the hood is buzzin
Chedda Boy this, and Chedda Boy that
And I'm glad it ain't crack


[Verse Three: Crisis]
Like Khalid Muhammad, the O-U-T heed the drama
If a nigga want me, he gon' see dalima(?)
Crisis, the heater palmer, I rolls a bead upon ya
Kidnap your morticianist before he enbalm ya
Better be thankful that you got me to warn ya
You gon' need some armor, plus weed to calm ya
The painkillers we the game's realest G's with honor
Strike like a Giaconna while you scream for momma
The theme of horror, we livin in dividend chasin
Racin, we impatient
First off, this is for guns that burst off
And when (?) throws, leavin they foes the worse off
You be lucky if I let you get a verse off
Your raps is weak, your gats don't leak, nigga you're soft
And second, I'm reppin with a automatic weapon
Shit get more dramatic when we step in, the army

{*violin music gradually fades out*}