| Yeah, it’s overdue right here
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| Y’all know what it is.
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| The dead is gone, the world welcomes new borns
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| A thousand-bookies is sworn in uniform
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| No applications for snitches, niggas, but you can join
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| Just get your coins, and start droppin' dime
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| Superiority, I can stop time
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| And I am the minority, so who can knock mines?
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| Purposely placed here on purpose to shine
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| Home, purchased on furnace, my concerns is to grind
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| Get some M’s, then gettin' to win
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| And transfer all U.S. currency for yen
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| A few friends, few next to kin
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| Yes it’s true, I flew through in that fluorescent Benz
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| Show room shoppin', coppin' rims, I’m top-ten
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| Niggas gon' respect my pen
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| Survived in two droughts, two separate games
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| So I shout, «Who'll slouch, get outta my lane»
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| My homey’s homey did ten an change
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| So we set-up in Tony’s rome, and I picked out his brain
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| I explained it’s bigger game then just street nigga fame
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| Them same thoughts I fought like Sugar Shane
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| Reachin' the next chapter of life after I mastered
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| Fuck it Fresh, address these little bastards
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| Uh, yea, yeah
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| I’m reachin' for the Range doors on the truck
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| The European stitch strong in the guts
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| My nigga M3's doors liftin' up
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| Uh, Fresh sick with dough, got Danbury pictures goin' off the dust
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| And the Cranberry Six growin' off the guts
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| Light pink heavy wit strong off the cuts
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| Actin' like steady bitch, knowin' you a slut
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| And after we get finished ma knowin' you won’t cut
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| And you know I’m in the truck, and deep dishin' it
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| Fives and sixes, the kid keep kickin' shit
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| Pies of the bricks, the kid keep flippin' shit
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| I insist the stag' and seen different shit
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| Bubble face your par' wit see fish in it
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| Bubble great, ponair’s wit clean kinesh shit
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| In Duffle bags by Guc'
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| The white double-stitch on the whore that’s Emilio Puc'
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| Flow Rivers in the booth and I’m speakin' the truth
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| So listen up, young niggas cuz I’m speakin' perfuse
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| Uh, yea
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| The bigger it is nigga, the harder it falls
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| Niggas scared of LL, nigga give us the ball…
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| Listen to this man
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| I want ya’ll to listen real close and real careful man
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| There ain’t seldom is niggas born wit all the five senses
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| The five senses are now, listen to this and listen to this shit close
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| Cuz this is when a nigga is a last level nigga
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| First of all, you had to been born wit automatic understanding of the game
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| You had to have be born with automatic understanding of the game from birth
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| Then you gotta be unadulterated orator
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| You gotta know how to spit that dialogue in some form of fashion
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| Whether it’s just talking or it’s rapping
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| Then you gotta be a law of inertia
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| Mean that once you get in motion, and you get focused
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| You get hot, that you cannot be motherfucking stopped
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| Then on top of that you gotta have lyrical sense on a massive level
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| Some niggas got it on minor, some niggas got it on major
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| Some niggas got it on the master, master is the last level
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| Then on top of that it gotta be written in your script
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| The script… the script… the script…
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| Yo real niggas you can’t break
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| And real nigga you can’t make 'em man
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| We’ve been big niggas all of our life man
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| Answered to nobody man, and wake up
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| And go wherever the day take us man |