| Who raps get weight like grams on triple beams?
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| Who got their heart on tapes and CDs?
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| He rap and she rap, but my rap — the best
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| They rap with play raps, and I ain’t impressed
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| Cool raps get weight like grams on triple beams
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| Cool left with dirt and came back with G’s
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| Everytime I hit the door, they fly
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| Wantin' to know the response of the people
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| On the date when my album dropped
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| The East Point headlines gon' read that
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| I ride tracks, like Dre high-ride Cadillacs
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| And came a long way from the country
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| Here all in Atlanta, and about to make some real money
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| And show brothas who a straight lane
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| Who got picked at, and talked about
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| Who followed me, and now got game
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| The first scriptures in the book, they meant
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| If you was really from this town and 'bout to do it
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| You do your own hits
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| See, it was destined that I make a print
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| In the earth, so the future knew the Lord was makin' much sense
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| Now it ain’t nothin' that can worry me
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| My attitude is free and can see…
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| That you can be in Hawaii sippin' on that punch
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| Buy a house in the morning, get a Lexus for lunch
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| Sell a million of those samples and those same ol' kicks
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| It still take a ol' school hustla with a greatest hit
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| Young Cool Breeze ain’t never did time
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| When the foes went to raid, I was home writing rhymes
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| Representin' the south forever, put raps together
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| Hit 'em with the salt, then come the pepper
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| You see, I represent the field
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| And only a few from the east and the west gon' really keep it real
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| And it’s like a lot of them gon' start dissin'
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| But we’ll make money, sell records
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| And serve 'em up like competition
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| And I be the first to crank up the spot
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| Say you don’t know nothin' 'bout the south
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| And Atlanta ain’t no Mariott
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| I seen a lot of brothas get they turn
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| And the way they act?
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| Respect gon' be given when respect be earned
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| Me and my boys grew up listenin' to y’all songs
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| If we can’t be off city poppin' lip, we be dead wrong
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| So I just check for your release date
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| And if it’s bumpin' and you snappin', I’ll pick it up
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| Cuz I don’t city hate
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| See, it ain’t all about who you run with
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| Or the trap that you just can’t front, got the biggest bricks
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| Or who you and your boys run and get
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| It just take a ol' school hustla with a greatest hit
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| «Heart…» |