| Praise the lord, I was born to drive boat
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| Feeling like Slash in front of the chapel
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| I’m leaned back with the Les Paul
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| Shit I smoke is like cholesterol
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| Spilled dressin' on the vest at the festival
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| The best of all, had a midget Puerto Rican at my beck and call
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| Best believe that there was neck involved
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| Fucked around and almost wrecked the Saab
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| Uh, we took acid for ten days straight up in the mountains
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| Started running with the stallions
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| Playing frisbee in the West Indies
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| Did the tango with my kidneys
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| Eyes open, now I know just who my kids need
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| Rockin' very loose pants, yeah
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| Rockin' very loose pants, yeah
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| Bury a million in the sand, by the clock tower
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| Before I die, take a hot shower
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| Ride the Harley into the sunset
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| By chance I seen her in the lobby of the Ritz
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| With her man, the one that swings a hockey stick
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| I was wearing all white, and my hair was looking precious
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| Shit, I might cop a chest and a dresser
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| A little machine to make espresso
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| I heard your bitch still wears Ecko
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| Hide drugs behind the box of De Cecco
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| Live from the Expo, it’s me
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| I wear the wolf in the winter
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| Steer the coupe from the center
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| Who gives a fuck, I’m a sinner
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| I had dreams of fuckin' Keri Hilson in my Duncans
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| Woke up naked at the Hilton with a bitch that look like Seal’s cousin
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| Bite the eel by the dozen
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| (Got to take it for the team)
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| Bite the eel by the dozen
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| Pump the bass in the trunk
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| Shit rattled like a baby hand
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| Except this toy cost 80 grand
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| And I’m crazy tan, from all the places that I’ve been
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| Just from writing words with a pen
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| Tell the pilot «land the plane»
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| On Roosevelt and Main
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| Put a jacuzzi on the seven train
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| And lay John Coltrane play with that cocaine face
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| I know your crabs from that Old Bay taste
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| The brass band was seven pieces
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| My bitch’s name is Peaches
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| We got twin Mac elevens with the features
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| Shit you barely got sneaker money
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| So much dick in their mouths, that’s why these motherfuckers speaking funny
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| You need to speak clearer dear, cause I can’t hear ya
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| (I can’t hear ya)
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| You need to speak clearer dear, cause I can’t hear ya
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| The Magic Johnson of the game
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| These lames don’t want to play with me
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| Smile on your face, but I really know you hatin' me
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| I know you mad, cause I’m sick, and it’s plain to see, it’s me |