| Yo, yo, nappy headed snot nose
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| Lawn full of potholes
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| Grew up in the town where your shoes called zapatos
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| Was a skinny nigga so the people call me flaco
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| My older cousin Reggie was my only other honcho
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| Every Sunday morning we would go to the mercado
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| Piece of (?) of soda and some fifty cent tacos
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| Buy us that Tijuana with the rats and cukarachos
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| Headed across the border, with my mom to her trabajo
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| This to my brother Pablo, can’t break the bond with you and I Held a nigga down from pre-school to junior high
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| Never had a lot but always comin' through when do or die
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| Always had a smile but on the inside, you would cry
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| Always told use my mind, the world is your canvas
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| Moved in '94, the same year as Illmatic
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| Then back to the block with John in elastic
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| The way he lost his life in that car it was tragic
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| Tried to understand it, still can’t get a grip
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| 7 years later niggas still don’t give a shit
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| Down to bend a knee thankin God that we here to live
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| Barely in our scenes havin' dreams that we gettin' rich
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| Always knew the boy could spit, niggas call me Battlestar
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| Learned most of my game from the routes of Mt. Agalar
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| Still the fastest in my P.E. |
| class
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| One love to Big Lenny and D.E. |
| Slash
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| There was once two brothers of the same breed
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| The same type, wore each other’s Nikes
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| Tighter than tube socks, even dressed alike
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| Any drama throw the gloves on, let 'em fight
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| In the backyard, or the front lawn
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| Meet little Corey, and young Shawn
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| Before puberty hit, the two of 'em skipped-
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| School on the usual tip, polluted the strip
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| Corey’s mom always left weed around the house
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| Corey called Shawn, next thing you know, he sneakin' out
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| To help him with his hustle, on his daily route
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| Until one day, they ran into a scuffle
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| With some young’n’s from the other side
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| Corey didn’t make it, Shawn survived
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| But his lost his best friend in the midst of bullets flying
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| Hard to even smile but he’s tryin'
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| But… you know what they say…
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| Cause everybody grows, and everybody knows
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| That time moves fast, I just want to make the good times last;
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| You live and you learn
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| I already got that swisher rolled
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| Gangsta boogie to the liquor store
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| Puttin young Ach on shit, a kid who shouldn’t know
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| (?) Waitress, kissin on your sisters nose
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| Meetin Martell at the mall, just to hook a ho
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| (?) on the box where my pops pushed the night
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| Cookin' white, sidekick was grits and sugared rice
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| Hooded nights at the cypher, round table no mic
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| Like, «you ain’t know 'Get Like Me'?», no dice
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| Hide-and-seek with a fly freak, shy like a geek
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| Gettin' credit fora kiss on the cheek
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| You ain’t beat
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| Gettin' beats from the motif
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| Pass on the Casio
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| Wanted that one and a mil', before Casio
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| Always had a savvy flow, back when it was cavi-
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| So Cali cause I roll in a Caddy
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| Said, «fully I be feelin' that hood, G»
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| Still hold cold since that one ho pushed me Come on, how could he?
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| A rookie still buildin' up my memory stats
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| Black, my phone got stole, give me three years then hear me back
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| Brrrrrring, ch, ch Chirping something something something
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| No, chill nigga, I’m working
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| Yo, pornos in the range-range
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| Hidden for the main vein
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| Took 'em from Pop’s stash, then after made pot ash
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| Listening to King T 40's on empty
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| Memories of times before the 2000MP
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| Heart was never empty
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| Pockets super empty
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| Beggin' for change to fill his stomach on empty
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| Times were more more simply
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| Face was too pimply
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| But still hittin chicks —
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| Young, dumb, off of rum
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| No condom on some stupid shit
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| And love on some Cupid shit
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| Pure heart, fell in love with many of these stupid chicks
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| But that’s how it go though
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| Homey snorting No-Doz
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| Car-hoppin' stealing everything, alarm would ring
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| Run before one time spotted us Dumb shit we hold very deep inside the heart of us… |