| The fast lane, half heart, half money
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| Ain’t nobody smilin, ain’t nothin funny
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| Raise the risk, raise the profit
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| And can’t nobody stop it
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| Unless your game’s weak
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| So baby, don’t sleep
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| The fast lane, half heart, half money
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| Ain’t nobody smilin, ain’t nothin funny
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| Raise the risk, raise the profit
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| And can’t nobody stop it
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| Unless your game’s weak
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| So player, don’t sleep
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| The streets crawl with ill niggas on the block
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| Goin hand in hand
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| Leanin in and out of sedans
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| Pumpin crack dreams to crack fiends for a fee
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| Their dream is to re-up to a ki
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| Cops watch the influx of dope
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| Through a telescope
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| Snitches in the game
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| Give the young g’s names
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| Bitches on the jock
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| Of the hustlers on the block
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| Jump from gee to gee
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| Similar to a flea
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| Suck the blood out, or in this case the dough
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| Roll with the blow till considered a ho
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| Babies are born and pawned off to grandmama
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| The bitch ain’t done, she still lives for the drama
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| Lookin for another baller
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| To hit and never call her
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| All in vain
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| Life in the Lane
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| A new crew of hookers on the track from up north
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| Vice cops, they watch em stroll back and forth
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| They take a pay-off
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| Or a blow job just to lay off
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| The Lane’s no joke
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| Yo, you players stay broke
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| A ghetto garage makes a nice laboratory
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| PCP and crystal meth, wars of glory
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| End of story, gotta watch my back myself
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| Or else they’ll find my body layin on a coroner shelf
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| It’s the Lane
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| Gees take the game on the road to Minnesota
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| Supermarket’s all sold out on baking soda
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| Gangbangers start to understand the dope game fast
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| Kidnap the drug dealers for the ransom cash
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| Gotta represent, what you say you are, that’s a star
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| Feds got a homing device on your car
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| That made you easy to follow to Denver, Colorado
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| Birds you had, 12 now you got a l
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| Crack babies born in the hospitals cryin
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| Drive-by shootings can’t end, kids are dyin
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| The cream is the ultimate goal
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| Gots to roll
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| Till my cash flow’s mega
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| Baller not a beggar
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| Bitches workin plastic with the fake ID’s
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| Life in the Lane, stackin up g’s
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| Chop shops taggin up Benzes and Beamers
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| Crack spots boilin full kilos in beakers
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| Damn, the game’s quicker than shit, don’t slip
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| Cause bet your life there’ll be another hustler checkin yo grip
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| It’s the Lane
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| Brother on parole need a quick lick to come up
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| The score went bad, now he’s back stuck
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| Bitches settin niggas up jacked and waxed
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| Small-time workers movin weight in a g ride Lac
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| Don’t talk on your cellular, your phone is tapped
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| Don’t check the rear view, there’s no turnin back
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| It’s the Lane, now you’re in it, hit the gas and mash
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| Through the land of the hardcore hoes and cash
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| Jackers and robbers, hustlers and clockers
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| Everybody’ll squeal, take the l or the deal
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| Yo, spin the wheel, for the cops you’re a meal
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| Tailor suits gator boots make the fly hoes kneel
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| But if you miss, my friend, guess what you win
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| A one-way ticket to the federal state pen
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| It’s the Lane you chose, you fill your shit, ride Rolls
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| High-priced clothes, baddest fuckin hoes
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| Anything goes, there’s no limit, just mash
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| The cops will be there when you crash |