| Let’s do it!
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| Santana, Jim Jones, Killa, Freekey
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| How long we gon’have this shit on lock, man?
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| Yes sir, you gave me the right track Kanye
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| Listen — I been coppin them pieces
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| Maybe that’s part of the reason
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| I feel like a boxer: bobbin and weavin
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| But I’m gettin head
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| She’s bobbin and weavin (yes sir)
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| I’m grabbin her neck to stop her from breathin
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| I’ma wild out until I part with my breathin
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| Until I’m sparked out and leakin
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| Part of the cement
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| I need something pure, like from the Garden of Eden (why?)
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| Wouldn’t mind making her part of my achivements (what happened)
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| Cause when music discourage my pride (who was there?)
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| Zeke the only one with courage to ride
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| The ride’s so dirty inside
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| Seems like we were playin in mud
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| Hazin’it up, grams gave us the snub (she was buggin)
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| Who ill?
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| A check for two mill
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| And a cheap case, defaced, blue still, true stills
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| I got stories that my soul can sing
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| Flip water like Poland Spring
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| And I’ma hold them things
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| Look — talk to 'em
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| Look — my fella said you been coppin’a lot
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| Latest caper? |
| Propellers on top of the drop
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| But fuck it, who ever thought I would rock at the Roc? |
| (Killa!)
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| Top a top on top of the top
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| But yo — nothing definite
|
| I chop up the rocks
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| And I stop up the drop
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| +Blocka Blocka+ the block
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| Hello mate, yellow tape, helicopter your spot
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| What you wanted is not what you got
|
| And I pop up them cops
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| Cause dogg, it ain’t about Cam (It ain’t about me)
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| I got a son homeboy, it’s about Cam (For that?)
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| It’s about being +Bout It+
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| If you’re not, you’re ass backwards
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| My mathematics cause cash matters (That's important)
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| Little niggaz need to sit up and read
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| If the town’s too hot, get up and leave
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| Niggaz always got a trick up their sleeve (always)
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| Nigga like me — I always got a brick up my sleeve
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| And that’s forever
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| Shit, I was two blocks from coppin dust
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| I used to hop the bus
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| Now look dogg, ain’t nobody hot as us Girls, they gotta rush
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| Shit, they gotta blush
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| Wanna go in the mall just to shop with us To how they piss and bitch how they ran a mile
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| Fuck Killa Cam, they in love with Cameron Giles
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| Damn, I gotta smile
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| Hundred grand, I demand it Cot damnit the boy the boy done done it child
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| And that’s forever man
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| (Cam'ron speaking over fading beat)
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| You hear it, uh huh
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| We here, I love y’all man
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| It’s nothing boy
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| Dash, Hoffa, Young Guru
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| What’s really good?
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| Holla at your boy
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| I might have this shit on lock man
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| Kanye, Harlem, Chicago, Columbus, Holla
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| Chicago, you have your own Kanye West on the track
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| Harlem, you know who the fuck I am — Killa!
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| We just want you’s to know Diplomats is here
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| We ain’t going nowhere
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| Holla at the boy boy, let’s ride out man |