| I believe
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| I believe
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| I believe
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| I believe
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| (Verse 1: Papoose)
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| I’m feelin grouchy, saucy, hungry
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| Rolocini, new sex, lookin for bruised necks and blondies
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| Won’t make em baby mommies, I just wan em to swallow me
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| Sometimes that be the only thing that calms me
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| Police be actin like Starsky and Hutch
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| These fucks scheming so they could charge me
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| Cops needs colors so they could feel bossy
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| You tryna get yo colors up, you think you Fonzy?
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| I eat a lot of fish and parsley
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| Green vegetables, sweet peas and broccoli
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| Drink a lot of water so it could wash me
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| My homie told me stop eatin rappers, he tryna starve me
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| I ain’t startin trouble but pardon me
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| Rappers get a little hard and start actin cocky
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| Maury Povich need to swab me
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| These dudes used to be my sons like Charles Barkley
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| You think you Scarface? |
| I bet the shower to you
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| Get rid of Tony like 'Melo and Amar’e
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| Man, that’s word to Gadhafi
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| Your war stories put me to sleep, I need some coffee
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| Bragging bout old work, that’s beyond me
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| You ain’t put in no work since a tardy
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| Man, you washed like the laundry
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| You a ex murderer like Ashanti
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| The back of the club, that’s where the gods be
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| Being all that we could be, me and my army
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| They said I can’t rock a party
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| Give me the mike, I’m a rocket, they better launch me
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| My music is judged harshly
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| Everybody making comments, they wanna blog me
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| Knowledge of the game they posses hardly
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| I call em a bunch of meatheads like Archie
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| Haters say they wanna stomp me
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| I know how to weave and bob, no Marley
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| Dig my way up out of a grave if I get bodied
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| Dug er, dug er, they better bury me under concrete
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| Yea, king of New York
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| Yea yea, I’m the king of New York
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| Yea yea, king of New York
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| Yea nigga, I’m the king of New York |