| I had some problems
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| And no one could seem to solve them
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| But you found the answer
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| Told me to take this chance
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| Yeah, now dig
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| You got, rich niggas right
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| They do what they wanna do
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| Heh, and you got
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| Broke niggas, you heard?
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| They do what they gotta do
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| Now ask yourself, which one are you?
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| Ha, fall back
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| Soakin in Remy, sittin back smokin a twenty
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| Shit is scabby, the hustlin is so in me
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| Never show envy, got a style I maxed
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| I’m like po', back in eighty-fo', now smile at that
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| Unseen when I’m low, but still right in your face
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| I’m so skinny, but that semi-auto's right in my waist
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| From Jags to Jeeps, hoopties with the raggedy seats
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| Just imagine how I’m movin if we had any beef
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| Beats relax me, good cheeba keeps me nasty
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| Lower the smoke when I see the D’s creepin past me
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| Duckin the NARCs, born bustin Dutches apart
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| Love pussy wit pretty lips, when you fuck it it fart
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| Friend or foe, freak for the rims that glow
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| Rock Timbs if it’s summer or ten below
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| Love the streets, the science of the drugs that’s deep
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| I’m just another nigga next up, tryin to eat
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| You know!
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| Not a soul baby!
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| It’s all for y’all now
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| But it seems, y’all would rather
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| See me hit than, see my rich
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| Get bagged over some bullshit and see me snitch
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| Hopin' some AIDS ho bitch’ll leave me sick like
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| I’m a sucker for love wit some easy dick
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| I did dirt through my days but hid my work
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| Even then I still made sure no kids got hurt
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| Sweep the next, been knowin since my feet got wet
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| From the best turned vet learned to speak direct
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| My game’s jumpin, we all had our days of barkin
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| You could tell niggas styles by they ways of parkin
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| Why dispute it? |
| Dough got us so polluted
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| Paranoid to the point it’s like we, over-do it
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| Police press up, peep how the beasts arrest ya
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| Rough up, handcuff, then treat you lesser
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| Toast on me, smoke spray our potpouri
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| Y’all can bet I’mma rep how it’s supposed to be
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| You know!
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| Not a soul baby!
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| It’s all for y’all now
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| I got it locked, feel me!
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| Infinite game, get chills on the strength of my chain
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| It’s only real, certain niggas mention my name
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| Some relate, others stay numb in the face
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| Tryin to keep steps ahead like we runnin a race
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| Nikes and Timbs, lady friends like 'em slim
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| Light makeup, that shit that blend right wit they skin
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| So what’s the issue? |
| All dick sucks is still official
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| Cold-steel nickles, and Phil I’m still with you
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| Iceberg-in, on the Turnpike mergin
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| Late night, right brake lights black Excursion
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| Tree smokin, hustle the rap I’mma keep ropin
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| Too many niggas got deep emotions
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| The stress got 'em, who else wanna express they problems?
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| Get upset, but real vets respect the bottom
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| To a false, feel a fake love or hate
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| Right or wrong as long as the thugs relate
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| You know!
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| Not a soul baby!
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| It’s all for y’all now
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| What y’all want from me?
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| Yeah, y’all haters better get a hustle man, stop fuckin wit me
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| I’m tryin to live man, nah mean?
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| I been at the bottom, I was risin — fell back down
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| I’m tryin to climb up man
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| Get off my back baby
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| It’s all a game man don’t hate me hate the game
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| AZ the Visualiza return, once again
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| Love life, hate, what the fuck… |