| Yeah put the mic down son
|
| You done got all you can get from the game
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| Go 'head and walk away, I got this now, f’real
|
| I went from, street fighter to beat writer
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| Since I spit it from the heart I’m hip-hop's insider
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| With a feel for the game pop cats’ll never feel
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| When you fantasize gangster you could never be real
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| But from the game, some are so far removed
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| They transfer themselves into brand new dudes
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| Brand new moves brand new, attitude
|
| Greedy motherfuckers won’t share they food
|
| So we dig deep, reminded of our time on the streets
|
| As we sit back and watch these cats turn sweet
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| They so sweet, but claim to be thug
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| I guess that’s the effect of your mind on drugs
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| Stay so high, you feel you can fly
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| When you come down, you feel you wanna die
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| I see the eyes, you definitely a lost man
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| No longer the boss man, you payin the cost man
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| Walk away
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| Let’s face it son, it’s been, over for you
|
| Personally, I never, supported your view
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| How could a man, tell another man what to do
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| Just to try to sell a million records, or two
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| Your lost your soul your guts, a long time ago
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| Youse a copycat dude with a copycat flow
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| Copycat tracks, copycat fans
|
| I guess now youse, a copycat man
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| Enjoy your 15 minutes, it’s a short time
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| I know you don’t care cause you got Shug’s rhyme
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| Soon to be out of the game, no lights no fame
|
| But plenty of drugs, to the brain
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| Was it worth it? |
| Yes, for financial gain
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| But for the rest of your life you wake up with pain
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| Now you don’t have a clue on the next move to do
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| It’s like you never happened, it’s like no you
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| Walk away son |