| — Yo A what’s goin' on?
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| — Yo yo, what up baby boy?
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| — Ohhhhh
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| — Hahaha
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| — What's the deal my nigga?
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| — Look at you, uh huh, you lookin like money
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| — You know what it is
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| — Yeah
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| — You know what it is
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| — Yeah
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| — It's been 2 or 3 years, right?
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| — I know, it been a minute right?
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| — I know man, listen here
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| — It's all good though, you know I’m maintaining
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| — You lookin' good though baby boy
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| — I mean whatever, lets get it poppin'
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| — Alright, well I’m with you, gimmie your number
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| — No doubt, no doubt
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| — Here go my number right here
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| You know the happenings, homies just yappin' and
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| Hand shaking, laughing, and exchangin' all they math again
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| You usually lose touch when you travelin'
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| A few dudes bruised up in the battlin'
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| Parked on Madison across from the Radisson
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| We talked about the tattlin' some niggas did in Maryland
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| Plus discussed old homicides unravelin'
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| I asked, was he dabblin', he laughed and said he managin'
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| His Carti frames was as clear as a camera lens
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| He hardly changed, I was near in comparison
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| We joked about how police choked him out
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| And he claimed as far as fame I had enough to bust in Oprah’s mouth
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| In other words, I was up in clout
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| And from the curb I need to pull a Larry Bird, 'fore I’m up and out
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| Without a sound, snatched my Guinness off the ground
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| Rose up, gave him a pound and told him, «Homie, hold it down»
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| You know the game insane in the brain
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| Big things in the Range, real niggas never change
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| And though we homies and we no longer hang
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| You know you know me and that love still remains
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| So through the fame, through the fire and the flames
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| I adapt to the pain, real niggas do the same
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| And though we homies and we no longer hang
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| You know you know me and that love still remains
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| It was Tuesday when I saw him, figured Friday I could call him
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| Woke up early Wednesday morning, flew a chick in from New Orleans
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| She ain’t that average bitch who be doggin' for dick
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| You know them chicks that get you sick when they keep callin'
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| Up in Nordstrom’s for a fresh pair to floss 'em
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| Of course with footwear I be that first nigga that sport 'em
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| Caught 'em before the salesmen even had time to assort 'em
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| Bought 'em before any celeb stylist ever saw 'em
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| Wore 'em soon as I copped 'em in the spot playing possum
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| Debating my destination, lacing, weighing my options
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| Celly started rockin', I answered, what’s poppin'
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| They answered and said, they shot him, now the hood got a problem
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| I had to swallow, reaching out for my water bottle
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| Tryin' to figure what nigga, why and by who, then
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| Before you know it, the other voice told it
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| It was homie from the old clique I just seen and spoke with
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| It’s Doe or Die, we survive 'till we slain
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| And it’s no surprise, homie was probably high when they came
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| I know the guy, he was fly, him and I was the same
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| A Gemini, with a status symbolized as his name
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| Godly trained, he could camouflage on any terrain
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| Carti frames, we go back like Bartles and James
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| It’s a shame cause they say his baby mom is to blame
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| But nonchalantly I refrained cause it constantly changed
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| From close range, somebody please slowly explain
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| If they just wanted some jewels why didn’t they go for the chain
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| If they just wanted some news they could’ve left him in his Hanes
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| But no, they just left a nigga breathless and banged |