| I remember in the '90s it was all about forties and blunts
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| Nas cassettes, Das EFX and Reebok pumps
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| Punk motherfuckers that were claiming they got TECs
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| And rockin ski masks like Q-Tip in Hot Sex
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| Before them underground rappers with complex
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| When Mobb Deep and Jay still lived in the projects
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| There wasn’t Escalades flooding the streets
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| It was all about Lexus Coupes and the Jeeps
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| Yup, what I wouldn’t give to see it again
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| Doing stupid-ass shit, just me and my friends
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| Like calling up bitches, if they fathers got pissed
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| We’d pop shit cause caller ID didn’t exist (Click)
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| I can still remember dancing to Kane
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| Every day with Dewayne, LJ and Charmaine
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| Life’s changed, but this is how it be till the end
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| Still doing dumb shit, just me and my friends
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| (Hey hey hey, try to take the crew and we don’t play play, say say say)
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| It’s just me and my friends
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| (Hey hey hey, try to take the crew and we don’t play play, say say say)
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| It’s just me and my friends
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| (Hey hey hey, try to take the crew and we don’t play play, say say say)
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| It’s just me and my friends
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| (Hey hey hey, try to take the crew and we don’t play play, say say say)
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| (Dumbing out, just me and my crew)
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| Yo, the crew I roll with — cold as hell
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| We own the streets like OGs own the jails
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| Mack college bitches, they know us well
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| But now that I’m 23 I feel old as hell
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| Suave motherfuckers with the fliest of hoes
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| Peepin bitches (Yo Ap, keep your eyes on the rooooad)
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| Nothin’s really changed, we work fast on it
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| Since hats with silver plaques that said 'RAP' on it
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| Ignorant little punks provokin a fight
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| Kinda like stickin a pipe through the spokes of your bike
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| Cruisin down Franklin, tappin the brakes
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| Hey yo Rube, put that dutch down, we passin the jakes
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| Spot didn’t get hot or jump until we came
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| A fridge full of forties like Nuthin' But a 'G' Thang
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| Rap pack of Godz and we willin to pop
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| And stick together like waffles when they still in the box
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| You couldn’t tell me nothing back in '92 when I was wilding duke
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| Rocking British Knights, gold chains and Cross Colors suits
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| Me and Joey boosting bikes out of front yards
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| We’d smack you up just for doing nothing, we was dumb hard
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| Known from Armenia Ave and back down to Egypt
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| Like in Tampa you either showing your balls or you don’t show your face
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| Strictly Miami Bass hits playing from Disco Rick
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| And gangsta shit from the Geto Boys, they minds was playing tricks
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| We used to load up at Manuel’s then
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| And launch bottle rockets at people’s houses until we’d burn our hands
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| «I Got A Man» was the jam
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| I remember like, «Damn!
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| I’m so proud to be a hip-hop fan»
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| Started making beats and writing raps, that’s when the bug got in me
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| Flipped out when my man pulled an armed robbery
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| I ain’t seen him since he went to prison, wonder how he’s living
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| Heard he’s out the pen, so one love to you my old friend |