| On my soul, I’mma kill it, on my soul
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| On my soul, I’mma kill it, on my soul
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| On my soul, I’mma kill it, on my soul
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| On my soul, I’mma kill it, on my soul
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| I been waitin' for this moment like a sinner on a Sunday
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| God forgive my sins, I’m tryna win
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| Where they lose lives without 20 dollars but carry .45s
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| What can I say? |
| Like Father’s Day, we all got ties
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| I rise high like a pop fly, no scrimmage
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| I’m feelin' like Popeye on a strict diet of spinach
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| Sons go across the net, see I call it a ball of tennis
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| What you talkin' bout like Willis, stop you mid-sentence like hiccups
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| Give it right back to you like Cinderella slippers
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| I got principles, no Seymour Skinners
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| Suddenly I see more, more than the florist at the little shop of horror
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| Yo Khrysis, you still recordin'?
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| Clearly I’m focussed so dealt hope to the hopeless
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| Send me competition, I’m sendin' you bad condolences
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| You far from us, you hate but God love us
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| If you need advice, I’ll give you a tip like Kamaal’s mother
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| Step one, understand there’s no one better than me |
| Step two, follow step one to a T
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| On track, so on track they wonder where do I train
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| I love the man that I became, vain like Ricky Fontaine
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| But Pretty Ricky’s what they called him
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| We back in it like parallel parking
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| Standin' on the game like a Playstation carpet
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| Pray the same way that mama taught us
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| Bow your head, let us pray
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| For anybody who dare stand in our way
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| On my soul, I’mma kill it, on my soul
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| On my soul, I’mma kill it, on my soul
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| Bow your head, let us pray
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| For anybody who dare stand in our way
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| On my soul, I’mma kill it, on my soul
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| On my soul, I’mma kill it, on my soul
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| On my soul, I’mma kill it, on my soul
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| On my soul, I’mma kill it, on my soul
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| On my soul, I’mma kill it, on my soul
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| On my soul, I’mma kill it, on my soul
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| (Count me down again)
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| Product of mama’s prayers, promise mama I’d care
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| Promise to bring her joy for the times that I gave her fear
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| Times when I lied to her, knowing she’d see through it
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| Praying the Folks and Mo’s don’t recruit us
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| Children under the sun and she hate when the summer come |
| Caskets under the dirt, hope we see 21
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| Live in fear of the bullet when coming out of the gun
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| And they wear the metal like Forrest before he learned how to run
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| If I die, somebody wipe my mama’s tears for me
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| Tell her play this if she ever need to hear from me
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| Mama I love you, that’s the only thing that matters
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| Now let me get right back to killin' these rappers
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| I run your town, give it back when I’m not around
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| Better bring your plungers cause that shit ain’t goin' down
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| I’m a product of God’s work, you’ll leave with your pride hurt
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| What I write is a prize verse, your shit is a Pras verse
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| Sleep on Lord, these rappers ain’t ready
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| Tell the head of your label I’m doing some beheading
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| You can bring you, you, you and whoever
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| I’m playin' everybody, Eddie Murphy movie credits
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| I won’t fall, I’m short but I stand tall
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| I don’t give a damn what they say, I work damn hard
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| Hell naw, you can’t hang, but I’ll find you a noose
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| I’m takin' spots like it’s duck, duck, goose
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| Little sing tools
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| Bow your head, let us pray |
| For anybody who dare stand in our way
|
| On my soul, I’mma kill it, on my soul
|
| On my soul, I’mma kill it, on my soul
|
| Bow your head, let us pray
|
| For anybody who dare stand in our way
|
| On my soul, I’mma kill it, on my soul
|
| On my soul, I’mma kill it, on my soul
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| On my soul, I’mma kill it, on my soul
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| On my soul, I’mma kill it, on my soul
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| On my soul, I’mma kill it, on my soul
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| On my soul, I’mma kill it, on my soul
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| Why do you hate?
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| Why don’t they teach you how to love?
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| Why do you hate yourself?
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| Why don’t they teach you how to love yourself? |