| Yeah
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| For those that’s locked in Comstock
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| My peoples sittin in San Quentin and Clinton
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| Rikers Island
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| Rikers Island
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| Cracker’s Island
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| I wake up to them rappin tunes every afternoon
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| I be home soon, I see the board some time after June
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| Met a couple of convicts that’s way beyond sick
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| It seem they dig my style cause I be on some don shit
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| Laid back, I ran into some brothers from way back
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| Those I dug we hugged, besides that, black, I don’t say jack
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| I stay in tune with the sun, stars and moon
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| Cause behind bars you’re doomed if your mind can’t consume
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| Plus spiritual pain can bring forth physical reign
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| And without knowledge of self how else can a criminal change?
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| And bein locked up just ain’t the life for me
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| Shit is way too trife for me
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| «You're comin home soon"sounds so nice to me
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| Plus you can bet I’m bouncin out with mad props
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| And if I get chopped or not, baby pop
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| My world don’t stop
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| (Your world don’t stop
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| Your world don’t stop
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| Your world don’t stop
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| Your world don’t stop, stop, stop.
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| Your world don’t stop
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| Your world don’t stop
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| Your world don’t stop, stop.)
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| And in here it makes all end up the same from blowin backs out
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| 5 to 15, seein the bean until they max out
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| Misbehavin, actin uncivlized like cavemen
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| I witnessed brave men that gave in
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| Sodomized and turned to gay men
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| Nobody’s playin drama, prisoners be posted preyin
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| On some low shit layin
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| Sleep, get your whole shit banged in
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| Hangin, plus who’s to warn you
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| Out of the hell these inmates gone through
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| From three halves of a four group doubt if anyone is normal
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| And over all it’s hard to call who would try to play you
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| My kid from my tomb’s caught a carved spoon through his navel
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| Nothin can save you, even C.O.'s'll try to grave you
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| It’s painful to even know those who most faithful’ll betray you
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| I lay low-key, cause I ain’t Hercules
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| Tryin to get out early on work release
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| Prayin the system work with me
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| Cause I ain’t tryin to see three hots and a cot till I rot
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| That ain’t my plot, baby pop
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| My world don’t stop
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| (Your world don’t stop
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| Your world don’t stop
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| Your world don’t stop
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| Your world don’t stop, stop, stop.
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| Your world don’t stop
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| Your world don’t stop
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| Your world don’t stop, stop.)
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| So until that day I’m discharged and set free
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| Fuck who’s gonna sex me
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| My mind’s more based on makin my next g
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| Now let’s see, left alone me as a juvenile, no more movin foul
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| The penile possesed me with a smoother style
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| Blessin my mental with mathematics to map shit through graphics
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| Fuck it, I ain’t with hustlin backwards
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| A wiser man with ideas and liver plans
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| More mature and for sure done saw all my eyes can stand
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| Sittin tryin to design these words of mine
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| To define what occurs when you’re servin time
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| Stress just blurs the mind
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| Behind bars scars are signs of hard times
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| I’m trappin myself in between these lines
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| But I ain’t tryin to see three hots and a cot till I rot
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| That ain’t my plot, baby pop
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| My world don’t stop
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| (Your world don’t stop…)
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| Yeah, representin
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| For all the fellas on lock-diggedy
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| From upstate to downstate
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| Don’t stop, paw
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| Don’t stop, paw
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| And on and on and on…
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| My man Sincere is in here
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| Yo Free, how it be, baby?
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| That’s how we do it |