| You have never seen my face before
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| You don’t know me Oh, no You will never see my face again
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| You don’t know me Oh, no You’ve never seen the gloves of an Uptown thug
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| You say I move drugs, cuz my shit is unplugged
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| Everywhere I go, results hound our love
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| Black unbless them like the heavens up above
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| Catch me in the new wave cab with ten bags and Etro
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| The shit you growin’is H20
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| Got beef so I’m taking it slow, making it grow
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| Right now my main concern is making it blow
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| Guns and ammo, man, yo, you gots to understand, yo
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| I’m not the one that hit them with the banjo
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| Here y’all is, bringing my fingerprints
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| Up in them cameras and shit like I fucked a singing bitch out
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| Ask her if she seen my face
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| Right: Look- I was out of town getting cake with Moore and Little Shake
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| Wasn’t even out here in New York State
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| Trying to play me like a goat, like my name was Scape
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| Now you mad, son
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| Called a nigga sleepin', outside creepin'
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| We out in Mexico, for a fun-filled weekend
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| At least I thought I was, they had the whole place barred
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| Still thinkin’I sold drugs, ice 'em up Kick the door in, I find Satan
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| >From up top, bullets soaring, but I fake 'em
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| I’m hard to hit, Spanish speaking chick that constantly
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| And Mafia connections, chopping niggas, it’s hard to get
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| Hit me with the 411, and the gun
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| Envelope, and transfered funds from Big Pun
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| Conversation, job well done
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| This shit is lifestyle now, shit, I do it all for fun
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| Rippin’the frames, got at least 20 different names
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| Know at least 20 different games with different lames
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| Not to mention liftin’Lane’s credit cards and passports
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| Slayin’and flat on asphalt, still
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| Y’all don’t know
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| I’m in the cell now, it’s hell now, all stuffy
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| Seven numbers, told Harve to call Puffy
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| Say they got his man locked down in sick town
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| Gotta get him out, not now but right now
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| Catch him when they shift him when they open the yard
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| Hurry up, before these six rounds smokin’the guard
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| On the humble, I’ma just lay up for y’all to come through
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| Create a diversion; |
| me, I start a rumble
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| Holdin’me, they ain’t even take my flip
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| Got on Simmy’s, they ain’t even take my shit
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| Got my jewels, lend 'em right, them a be fools
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| On the sneak out, the peek out, had two left shoes
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| I’ma freak 'em, through the front gate, on administrations
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| Only a dust of dust, the wind, still north facin'
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| Straight up out a crystal face, like I’m Jason
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| Only a dust of dust, the wind, still north facin'
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| You late
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| Repeat 1 to fade |