| Everybody talk, nobody gon' do it
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| Came through, defied the odds, then I grew here
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| I must have made 10 mill and ran through it
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| Baby love come and go man, so screw it
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| It’s nothing to it
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| Watch me as I stick and move on this groove
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| While I’m duckin' the paparazzi
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| Only person shot me was Jonathan Manion
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| Before and after I was fat as Ralph Cramden
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| Y’all don’t like the fam then shout it
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| Dumb, dumb, dumb, I don’t like Black Rob
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| Let’s talk about it
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| These motherfuckers change like the seasons
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| The hate that y’all harbor, 9 times outta 10 there’s no reason
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| Committing treason, then they try to run
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| Forget that they got asthma, stop and they start wheezing
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| I see him looking for his asthma pump
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| I’m in that Maybach watching the? |
| on the plasma slumped
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| I’m right here daddy, I no fear
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| Objects in the mirror is closer than they appear
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| So people be advised, my eyes on the prize
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| This ain’t an exercise or the birth of some tough guys
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| A lot of y’all don’t figure me rich
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| Won’t follow me around, just twitter me, bitch
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| And I show you how I done it, pulled out and told 'em run it
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| Plus I’ll let you meet the fam uptown in the wild 100s
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| Fans wanna walk in my shoes, I give 'em a chance
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| My lifestyle’ll make 'em defecate in their pants
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| Y’all don’t believe me, ask the God 'bout me
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| He’ll tell you how I hate to lose and I can’t stand defeat
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| A product of da streets, P-O-D-S
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| I don’t like cheques, fam, C-O-D's best
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| That’s how I do when I do it, I’m not stressed
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| These chicks see me stuntin' like boy is a hot mess
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| I must confess, Harlem made me this way
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| Fuck what the chicks say, Rob don’t play
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| So people throw your hands up and show me where the cash at
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| Matter fact, put 'em down, I might catch a flashback
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| Benz hatchback, TVs in it
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| Haters like «that's my car» till they see me in it
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| Head reason I go on and all my thoughts' infinite
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| Furthermore, y’all ain’t heard the bars flow in a minute
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| See Rob can hold his own, ain’t nothing timid
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| He don’t sound like y’all, it’s all authentic
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| Gimme the ball on the court, I put all the?
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| Just cause I do and-1 moves, its no gimmick nigga
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| You’re spitting limericks, your petty five lines
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| Wanna see the beast come out, say my name five times
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| Round for round, I’m down, shake the town
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| Shake you down, wave the pound, lays it down
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| P! |
| Haha, listen, listen
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| Yo, the 4−5th is what I use to spark
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| For entertainment purpose, no amusement park
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| Listen pa, duke my movement’s smart
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| Chest blow with a left throw nigga
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| It’ll bruise your heart
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| Listen pa, I am not kiddin', plot thicken
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| Shots given to niggas who fuckin' wit' Ahk?
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| Rap’s my profession, the biz is reefer
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| I smoke more of that shit than Wiz Khalifa
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| 1−2-6 and Madison got body bags
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| My gun spit shit, leave your ass in a body bag
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| Brooklyn’s Finest, fuck police
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| Your wife’s a cop then fuck police
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| Listen, nigga my thing gon' pop
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| Sean Price on the remix
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| With bank gon' pop, P! |