| Look up in the sky, where you’d rather be
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| Lie to yourself, you can’t lie to me
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| You see lights, camera and action
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| Everything ain’t for everyone, son, stop rapping
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| Look up in the sky, where you’d rather be
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| Lie to yourself, you can’t lie to me
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| I see true careers collapsing
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| Everything ain’t for everyone, son, stop rapping
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| Damn, you make it look so easy
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| For me to get paid, but this shit crazy
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| I’ve been at it for five joints
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| And I still ain’t make a profit or pocket one point
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| I paid for my trip to the UK
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| Even spent more than the grip in two days
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| I figured, ay, if I’mma blow right now
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| Then I’mma go right now, my dough low right now
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| But it’ll, loosen up as I’m moving up the charts
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| But the only charts I see is a bus
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| My money feel cold like crush
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| But me and my niggas hot so I know it ain’t us
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| We the shit and we ain’t even sell a record yet
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| Every nigga on the block saying son a vet
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| So you can now neither
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| Come forward or say «son, I ain’t gonna blow, and I know it»
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| I can’t show it
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| I should have kept my nine to five
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| But hip hop had me believing that I should try
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| Gucci, Louis, Louis, Gucci
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| Niggas kill me when they say they making movies
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| You’re no Bruce Lee
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| Return of the dragon, enter the dragon
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| Enter the stage, y’all can imagine
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| It’s no beauty pageant, you don’t get picked
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| You put in work, and then they love you cause you didn’t quit
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| You don’t make movies, you make skits
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| For little tricks in your neighborhood, then you disappear quick
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| David Blaine, you can save the blame, for yourself
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| Cause you fucked up, boy, no one else
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| Telling yourself, yeah, we on tour
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| When you been around the world in your bullshit Honda Accord
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| Ops, a minivan, do you get any fans?
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| Say you the best, not yet, change of plans
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| Go get another career
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| Cause hip hop is like a ball head, for you it’s not here |