| I’m still standin…
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| This for the rap gods…
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| I tried to earn wings but, I think I grew horns
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| And maybe that’s why mc’s rock me like porn
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| Flowin like the water in the mississippi river
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| I suppose it grows in the hennessey sipper, thank me
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| To do a show, and we tryin to do a palace, like a midnight jet,
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| My soul roams off to dallas,
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| It’s somethin like cream when we hustle on the scene
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| Other mc’s and freaks wanna join the team
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| Dealers would fly, ride the engines of pimps
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| The colors were candy coated, incredible rims
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| And my dreams of what people sayin, don’t get a job
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| I realize now it was all the rap gods
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| I slither through the streets like a boa constricter
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| On my car dashboard got the gangsta pictures
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| Sportin leather and energy, could that be me?
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| Smokin weed listenin to run DMC?
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| My repute wass a rap child, emotions of steel
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| Represent with no crew man, your life is sealed
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| Add a two’s of all kinds, with gun zippers in em'
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| See notes don’t last long, we can’t wait to spin em'
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| Oh cars, and bars, weed, greed, and clothes
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| Maintain my women, clown the rest of these hoes
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| Man, my festive up braid the truth of a rhyme
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| After restin on jeopardy to my lifetime grind
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| I’m like an angel that’s high smoken' weed up in heaven
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| We’re as crooked as reverends, b-ball playground legends
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| Triangle, some say sinsanati bang goes, stars fangle
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| Hand cold as chris krango, we break hearts
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| And crack rib praps, take trips far
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| Shop at the gap, ten by the rap gods
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| Shoot the git, so I blessed it with some weed, bacon, eggs and grits
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| I can block the sun, like a solar-eclipse
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| My homie said he had a yaght but I don’t mess with ships
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| The freak, said she hated dope dealers, they clock they ends,
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| I said which is why your payin this rapper then
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| Nickatina, I’m something like simbad the sailor
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| Dress in red and black, the true signs of a raider |