| Yeah
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| SAVEMONEY shit
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| Uh, back to reclaim my throne
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| I’m the prince of the city, young Machiavelli
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| Staged my own death, outwitted my adversaries
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| From the land of Larry Hoover where they bury shooters
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| I’m shining hard, Stanley Kubrick, we don’t live by the law
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| Two-time felony charge, gun-toting
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| Smoke 'em like Lamar, ball like a young Odom
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| Where crack hit the Chi the same year as Michael Jordan
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| My trap phone got more rings than Robert Horry
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| I got a story make Shakespeare say that’s tragic
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| Speak my mind, I got a bad habit
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| Became a hazard to my health like Corona to an asthmatic
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| I Roc like the old Jay but I’m a backstabber 'cause I un’d myself
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| I got better shit on albums I shelfed than shit that you went platinum off
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| Too fly for my own good, it’s my albatross
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| I’m a beast boy, I just love to self-sabotage
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| Pussy niggas talking down, vagina monologue
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| I ain’t running, but I’m tired of y’all
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| I could call Farrakhan or I could get you tatted
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| On the limbs of your friends, have 'em crying like Kavanaugh
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| Back on my bully, don’t be a matador
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| This ain’t no red flag, shooters in red rags, looters in Hermes
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| Mask on, you still see I’m the future
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| But I had to learn not to judge a man by his past, so that’s all I ask
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| Uh, young Machiavelli
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| Still alive across the belly
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| Uh, lemme get it back
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| Uh, Lake Shore Drive with the top back, rocking Y Project
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| With my ride or die bitch, nigga where The Lox at
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| Had so many conflicts, that shit got crucial
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| I was really fighting for freedom like Desmond Tutu
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| Shit is like apartheid if you seen the South Side
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| No upward mobility, they got niggas paralyzed
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| Paper Planes snapback, shout to Em and Ty Ty
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| Yeah, I did a rock album, that’s cause I’m a rock star
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| I’m from where the Moes push rocks like the tomb of Jesús
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| To put new 22's on they coupe, selling D, ducking 12
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| Undercovers looking for Proof, I push off the roof like Bishop in Juice
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| A window in my reality, two-parent household from an immigrant family
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| Middle-class salaries on 47th Street by the Stones
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| Where they move white out the house same block as Obama’s home
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| Uh, born alone, die alone, it’s still SAVEMONEY
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| I take that to the grave with me
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| The game’s funny, a nigga went from robbing in the hood
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| To the Robin Hood of Englewood, I’m feedin' niggas
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| They produced these circumstances by beatin' niggas
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| Mistreatin' and misleadin' niggas
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| We the niggas jumped ship, did some underwater breathin', nigga
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| Why I gotta live my death 'fore they believe a nigga?
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| Still alive
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| Alive, yeah yeah
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| Still alive
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| Alive, yeah yeah
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| (Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh)
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| Alive, yeah yeah
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| I’m still alive
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| I’m still alive |