| Yeah! |
| It’s been a long time comin'
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| You know what they say Kanye
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| Slow motion better than no motion
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| I walked in the crib, got two kids
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| And my baby mama late (uh oh! uh oh! uh oh!)
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| So I had to did, what I had to did
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| 'Cause I had to get (duh-ough! duh-ough! duh-ough!)
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| I’m up all night, getting my money right
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| Until the blue and whites (po po! po po! po po!)
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| Now the money comin' slow, but a least a nigga know
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| Slow motion better than (no-oh! no-oh! no-oh!)
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| You love to hear the story, again and again
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| About these young brothers, from the City of Wind
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| Like juice and gin, in the city we blend
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| Amongst the hustle, titties and skin, fifties and rims
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| Y’all know the Sprewells and trucks that’s detailed
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| Heartless females that wanna ride in 'em
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| Felt the Southside venom in raw hides and denim
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| Pimp minds collide with 'em, a system that tries victims
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| We livin' in, my man in the fast lane pivotin'
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| On the block white is selling like Eminem
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| On the block it jump off like Kim and 'em
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| On the block it’s hot, you can feel it, in your skin and then
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| Shorties get the game but no instructions to assemblin'
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| Eyes bright, it seems like the fight is dim in 'em
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| Call my man Cuzo, like I’m kin to him
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| He tryin' to stay straight, the streets is bendin' him
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| I walked in the crib, got two kids
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| And my baby mama late (uh oh! uh oh! uh oh!)
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| So I had to did, what I had to did
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| 'Cause I had to get (duh-ough! duh-ough! duh-ough!)
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| I’m up all night, getting my money right
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| Until the blue and whites (po po! po po! po po!)
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| Now the money comin' slow, but a least a nigga know
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| Slow motion better than (no-oh! no-oh! no-oh!)
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| It’s all good in the hood, like rats in gyms
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| Throwbacks and Timbs, blacks and rims
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| Whether on ball courts or tires of all sorts
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| We never fall short, with us it’s all Force like Air 1's
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| Some waves, some air guns, the days of the fair one is over for
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| Cats is colder than four below, with self I go toe to toe
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| Wondering if it’s for the art or for the dough
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| Though I know to grow a nigga gotta learn to let go
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| Though I know the dough I got to bring back to the ghetto
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| Arrows on tarot cards pointin' to the grind
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| Po' livin' in more prisons, pointin' to my mind, shine the light up
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| Clench my fists tight, holdin' the right up
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| Freedom fight in dark gear for the years to get brighter
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| Situations, and jaws get tighter
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| My man trying to get his weight and height up, c’mon!
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| I walked in the crib, got two kids
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| And my baby mama late (uh oh! uh oh! uh oh!)
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| So I had to did, what I had to did
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| 'Cause I had to get (duh-ough! duh-ough! duh-ough!)
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| I’m up all night, getting my money right
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| Until the blue and whites (po po! po po! po po!)
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| Now the money comin' slow, but a least a nigga know
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| Slow motion better than (no-oh! no-oh! no-oh!)
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| I, I know I could make it right
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| If I could just swallow my pride
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| But I can’t run away or put my gun away
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| You can’t front on me
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| I, no I can’t let it ride
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| No, no, not tonight
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| See I can’t run away or put my gun away
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| You can’t front on me
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| Yeah, I break bread with thieves and pastors, OGs and masters
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| Emcees and actors that seize and capture
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| Moments like the camcorder
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| You ain’t killin' it, yo that’s manslaughter
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| Though paper can’t change a man’s aura
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| It can feed a man’s daughter
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| I stand for the blue collar, on the side makin' a few dollars
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| Like Sam Jack they maneuver through drama like
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| I, I know I could make it right
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| If I could just swallow my pride
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| But I can’t run away or put my gun away
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| You can’t front on me
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| I, no I can’t let it ride
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| No, no, not tonight
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| See I can’t run away or put my gun away
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| You can’t front on me
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| I, I know I could make it right
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| If I could just swallow my pride
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| But I can’t run away or put my gun away
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| You can’t front on me
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| I, no I can’t let it ride
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| No, no, not tonight
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| See I can’t run away or put my gun away
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| You can’t front on me |