| This ain’t just rap, this is about connection
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| ya crabs could trap talk, this about respect.
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| I’m a mixture of Mutulu and Malcolm X*young Rick the Ruler, my mouths is a mess.
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| My low homey home he on house arrest,
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| try to tell homey be grown, This is about success.
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| the streets been sewn we see a thousand deaths,
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| So many nuts bust we rarely get aroused for sex
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| Try to do leers at the clear, lounge on decks
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| Among those who couldn’t care what’s around my neck.
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| Ten respects BBM’n or sendin' a text linen fresh
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| either we sinnin or blendin in with Execs
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| nigga I’m blessed puff blunts with big in the flesh
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| due to Nas in '95 with the bridge address
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| Live what I rep, I’m real no identity theft, my will
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| It’s like a prison, I’m pulling this stretch, it’s ill!
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| Recreation, my reputation, Could bring together that gangs from separation,
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| So, no dough, no explanations, blow!
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| Get lows my expectations glow.
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| OG, G.O.D and I know no Nigger that could deep on me!
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| The way I put the words together, they want something new,
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| So let’s get reacquainted!
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| Time to re-up gotta recycle the flow!
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| You talkin' like this was a thing of the past!
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| Switch Hustlas been killin em ever since
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| Hey you tell the truth Dawg
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| It only makes sense!
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| Reminisce rent a miss' this is limitless,
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| started from the Genesis school,
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| Though I been it since
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| Touch down scrimmages talkin to your Nemesis,
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| barkin at your innocence, finding that you’re friends ain’t shit
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| Let me finish it!
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| Few Niggers benefit!
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| New Niggers tend to send a cent to the penetent
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| Camp style, I know now what kill I’m in
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| No resemblance moving off my inner strength
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| superb penmanship, heard that my pen' was sick
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| Never impetent wonder where my Niggers went,
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| Die hard is still the point even when I’m bent
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| Fly cars, Louis scarves, everything is meant
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| Two-ten new in charge Imma bring suspense,
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| White Ice Blue Y’all ain’t seen me since
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| The young god, took a charge for 'em two attempts,
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| In my defense, I’m due to vent
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| Rap convo, blackin' over congos,
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| glass condo, relaxed in the dawn mode
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| Both arms fold, feet up on the console
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| Fuckin bomb holds skeetin on your cornrows
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| My boy Alonzo beat another homo
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| Let the dawn flow try and get the Bronze dough,
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| Head honcho high with a Milan glow,
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| How them horns blow make a nigga mambo,
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| White Bronco, address beef pronto, breast meat combo, don’t be a John Doe
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| Still calm though, OG at the trial when they hit Busy Bee in '03,
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| Low key, live wire flow be, 5th gear mode it could rip earlobes
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| think quick on my tiptoes, life’s a bitch and the chick chose |