| Yup
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| Da da da da da da
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| Turnin' this all into paper
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| Uh
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| Yeah
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| Been together since we were kids
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| Through thick and thin you made me rich, I couldn’t quit
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| It’s hard to switch, you put a hunnid fifty on my wrist
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| We took trips, the risk it got me feeling sick
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| It’s a crazy rush, I could never make enough
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| You make it hard for me to sleep, why you wake me up?
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| You’ve been crazy lately, why you getting people killed?
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| Only few respect you, the rest will probably squeal
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| You taught me how to turn a intro to a couple bills
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| Different level deals, damn I miss the homie Phil
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| Every time I take a loss, I start to hate you more
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| Another war, who’s keeping score, we winnin' more
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| I love the game, keep the fame, bullet proof the range
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| And dig a hole for the lames, shit will never change
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| And this is for the one and only
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| The dope game, your homie Bern'
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| They got nothin' on me
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| Candy paint range drizzle skittles on my latest
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| I got polish on my Daytons
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| I got lil' mama waiting
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| I pull up to her spot daily on my rounds gettin' my paper
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| Occasionally call her baby though she not my lady
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| Paper crazy? |
| Yeah
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| I been chasin' bags and I spin it fast, then replace them rags
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| Lace it up, all facts, If I ever spat
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| It was a song about stoners who made stacks
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| Put my city on the map
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| Stuck my safe in the wall like thumbtacks
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| Runnin' back, touchdown, homie, where that money at?
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| Range Rover, smokin' doja, bumpin' No Limit Soldiers
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| I miss C-Murder and the homie Mac
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| Locked behind bars, open up my weed jars
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| Rollin' up them fatties while my homies rap
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| See, we wan’t born wit' it, dat weed was no choice but to go get it
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| That’s what make us all go-getters
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| Candy paint, Caddy doors, keep the weed lit
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| Man, you know how we get, we be on that G-shit
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| Sunrise to sundown, we re-up then we re-flip
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| We wasn’t 'spose to be shit
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| Now we blowin' Gs (the best to ever do it)
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| Hunnid packs, Maybachs, keep the weed lit
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| Man, you know how we get, we be on that G-shit
|
| Sunrise to sundown, we re-up then we re-flip
|
| We wasn’t 'spose to be shit
|
| Now we blowin' Gs (the best to ever do it)
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| Said we just eatin', what we been doin'
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| Off the fat of the land, we sprout the seed sewn
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| Exotic weed blowin', got the trees growin'
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| Acres of the Z goin'
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| Fam, get the pack on the arm, two-hunnid Ps floatin'
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| Machine in motion, been the plug for a couple moments
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| Ups and downs, rollercoastin' but we feel we chosen
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| Deep as oceans but we get it with this jet propulsion
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| Stayin' focused, sit back, relax and roll this
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| Achieve goals, ash roaches
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| Grab vultures by they fuckin' wings and pluck 'em out your airspace
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| Don’t ever let your sun get blocked by their shade (no)
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| I said don’t ever let your sun get block by their shade
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| I got a full sun field of dreams, all organic (haha)
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| I stuck my neck out a few times, that was the standard (uh huh)
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| Brought the fellas with me, didn’t leave 'em abandoned (come on)
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| Now the eagle’s landed, all the packs are stamped and branded (skittles)
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| Left 'em standin', powered and we took full advantage (yup)
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| Now the trinkets and accessories all dipped and lavish
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| Different standards of what we accept in general
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| And that’s what makes us all Generals (yeah, Generals)
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| For the money we bled, you heard what he said
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| I’m try’na think of somethin' clever that go over your head
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| Cargo, off with the top, came straight off of the block
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| I’m 'bout to put the play together like A.I. |
| with the rock
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| I’m talkin' profit margin, baby, I got my eyes on the stock
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| I keep a squad full of bosses, we be vibin' a lot
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| I be fly as a plane
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| Baby, I made my own lane, no, we are not one in the same
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| I’m not like these lames
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| Fresh don’t gotta sting, Got problems but I can’t complain
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| I smile through the pain
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| I got two feet in the game
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| I got my hands on the money then I went insane
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| The weight of the world on my shoulder, I’m hopin' I don’t get a sprain, yeah
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| Hunnid bands switchin' lanes, while you slidin' wit’cha mane
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| Throw some karats on the chain
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| Got some money, stayed the same
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| I ain’t in it for the fame
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| I ain’t in it for the politicin', never been a Politician, mane
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| But I bad when fuckin' with the vision with the campaign
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| Every since a young nigga switched up his hustle, nothin' been the same
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| Late nights on the grind, I can’t even sleep, the money on my brain
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| Candy paint, Caddy doors, keep the weed lit
|
| Man, you know how we get, we be on that G-shit
|
| Sunrise to sundown, we re-up then we re-flip
|
| We wasn’t 'spose to be shit
|
| Now we blowin' Gs (the best to ever do it)
|
| Hunnid packs, Maybachs, keep the weed lit
|
| Man, you know how we get, we be on that G-shit
|
| Sunrise to sundown, we re-up then we re-flip
|
| We wasn’t 'spose to be shit
|
| Now we blowin' Gs (the best to ever do it) |