| Straight up shit is real and any day could be your last in the jungle
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| Get murdered on the humble, guns’ll blast, niggaz tumble
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| The corners is the hot spot, full of mad criminals
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| who don’t care, guzzlin beers, we all stare
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| at the out-of-towners (Ay, yo, yo, who that?) They better break North
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| before we get the four pounders, and take their face off
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| The streets is filled with undercovers, homicide chasin brothers
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| The D.A.'s on the roof, tryin to, watch us and knock us And killer coppers, even come through in helicopters
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| I drink a little vodka, spark a L and hold a Glock for
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| the fronters, wannabe ill niggaz and spot runners
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| Thinkin it can’t happen til I, trap em and clap em and leave em done, won’t even run about Gods
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| I don’t believe in none of that shit, your facts are backwards
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| Nas is a rebel of the street corner
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| Pullin a Tec out the dresser, police got me under pressure
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| Represent, represent!
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| Yo, they call me Nas, I’m not your legal type of fella
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| Moet drinkin, marijuana smokin street dweller
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| who’s always on the corner, rollin up blessed
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| When I dress, it’s never nuttin less than Guess
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| Cold be walkin with a bop and my hat turned back
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| Love committin sins and my friends sell crack
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| This nigga raps with a razor, keep it under my tongue
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| The school drop-out, never liked the shit from day one
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| cause life ain’t shit but stress fake niggaz and crab stunts
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| So I guzzle my Hennesey while pullin on mad blunts
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| The brutalizer, crew de-sizer, accelerator
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| The type of nigga who be pissin in your elevator
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| Somehow the rap game reminds me of the crack game
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| Used to sport Bally’s and Gazelle’s with black frames
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| Now I’m into fat chains, sex and Tecs
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| Fly new chicKs and new kicks, Heine’s and Beck’s
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| Represent, represent!
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| No doubt; |
| see my, stacks are fat, this is what it’s about
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| Before the BDP conflict with MC Shan
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| Around the time when Shante dissed the Real Roxxane
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| I used to wake up every mornin, see my crew on the block
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| Every day’s a different plan that had us runnin from cops
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| If it wasn’t hangin out in front of cocaine spots
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| We was at the candy factory, breakin the locks
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| Nowadays, I need the green in a flash just like the next man
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| Fuck a yard God, let me see a hundred grand
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| Could use a gun Son, but fuck bein the wanted man
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| but if I hit rock bottom then I’ma be the Son of Sam
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| Then call the crew to get live too
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| with Swoop, Hakim, my brother Jungle, Big Bo, cooks up the blow
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| Mike’ll chop it, Mayo, you count the profit
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| My shit is on the streets, this way the Jakes’ll never stop it It’s your brain on drugs, to all fly bitches and thugs
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| Nuff respect to the projects, I’m ghost, One Love
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| Represent y’all, represent!
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| One time for your motherfuckin mind
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| This goes out to everybody in New York
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| that’s livin the real fuckin life
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| And every projects, all over
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| To my man, Big Will he’s still here
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| The 40 side of Vernon
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| My man Big L.E.S.
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| Big Cee-Lo from the Don
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| Shawn Penn, the 40 busters
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| My crew the shorty busters
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| The 41st side of Vernon posse
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| The Goodfellas
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| My man Cormega, Lakid Kid
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| Can’t forget Drawers, the Hillbillies
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| My man Slate, Wallethead
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| Black Jay, Big Oogi
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| Crazy barrio spot (Big Dove)
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| We rock shit, Ph. D And my man Primo, from GangStarr
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| (Ninety-four real shit y’all, Harry O!)
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| Fuck y’all crab ass niggaz though…
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| (Yeah, bitch ass niggas!) |