| To all the murderers and gangstas, and burglars and cop killas
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| And drug dealers, we blood spillers
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| We from the Planet of the Apes, bust shots, every night
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| We hood guerillas, aiyo, it’s on, for realer
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| Aiyo, my raps takes toll like when Hurricane 'Trina struck the U.S. Gulf Coast
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| See me on the cover of the New York Post holding my toast
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| Live at the cookout, people getting roast
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| Niggas get laid down like Las Vegas hoes
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| You the King of New York? |
| That’s a total fabrication
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| Placed upon a nation, niggas is doodoo, I spit voodoo
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| Like I’m Haitian, shorty half Jamaican, half Asian
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| Spent the weekend at the Days Inn, the next day I fucked her and best friend
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| Yo, I was never blessed, never call me an overnight success
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| If anything, I slept with the vest on my chest
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| To protect me from the slugfest
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| Now I’m untouchable like Elliott Ness, yes
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| Stay fresh on a homicide quest, cocaine invest
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| FBI wanna frisk me, but I stay clean like Zest
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| In the progress me and the congress
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| Spark with a bad switch in a blue Prada dress
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| I finesse to test, and bag more women then this rhyme got S
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| Release the stress with the progress
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| The detective said I left the crime scene a fucking mess |