| Motherfuckers thought they had it on lock
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| I tell them open the safe
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| A ho a ho, I put a ho in her place
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| They show me love all the time
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| Motherfucker it ain’t nothin to rhyme
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| Got my tax bracket cracking filling W9's out
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| It’s my house
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| I was in the pro’s, you was only at the tryouts
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| Tell your coach to put your ass at timeout
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| It is what it is and it be what it be (oh yeah)
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| Pimpin' ain’t easy, leave it to me (oh yeah)
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| Mommy, I don’t need a ho, wonder why I keep her though
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| She got that bong-ba-bong-bong like how the speakers go
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| Kick it on the FIFA flow
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| We fucking with a Jedi, on my left side I got C-3PO
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| Do it big, keep it low, swear that I’m a genius though
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| Why I’m in line at the club like Emilio!
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| Sit at home, rich alone, Vic Damone, money talk
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| This is mine, get your own, this the fuckin' money shot
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| Benz coupe, green Dickies suit
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| You lied if you say I ain’t the truth at what I do
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| I stay high, halfway shut eyes when I came through
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| Comfortably dressed, it’s the sultan of sweats
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| Boardin' the jet, on course to collect the check
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| Give these little boys somethin' to respect
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| You can be the man on somebody else set
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| No baby steps, I move like a Tyrannosaurus Rex
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| We tryna have right now and next, everybody eat
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| That’s what I’m tryna see
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| Do it better than I done it homie
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| Don’t just follow me, I’m not the one to try to be
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| I’m watching you too, I need you to inspire me
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| Fool this is true, I don’t even lie down to sleep
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| No time, I take naps in-between flights
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| Even though it don’t seem right, no sheets
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| Dollar signs all night in my sleep
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| Money shot |