| Exit in the striker boat
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| Clean as fuck, eatin' millions and shittin' soap
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| Its in the ceilings, its in the walls, its in the floor
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| That’s old news, the real drugs is in the floor
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| Gold shoes, David Spokes on a 94
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| Fleet wood, my weed and fucking my bottom bitch, how we sleep good
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| G’s spent on that motor work, monsters under these hoods
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| Clique to thick for you to see through it, you know how we do it
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| Way different from them, momma who let em in?
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| Undesirables non-vibal, this is what them bosses flick them lighters to
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| Yeah, Yeah
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| This is Harlem in New Orleans
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| This is old school and dropped foreigns (right)
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| This that first smoke of the month
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| This that shit you always wanted (right)
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| I hope you suckas are ready for it
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| You know your bitches waiting on it
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| This is Harlem in New Orleans
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| This is old school and drop foreign
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| Riiiiiight, fuck the fame, give me the money and bud
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| Nigga could walk through Harlem and its nothin' but love
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| A1 under these rap Gods that’s fuckin' with us
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| They don’t even look cool, most of these niggas are suss
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| You rockin' with the innovators, imitated, never duplicated
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| If you don’t fill actin', chances is you a hater
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| I can smell a motherfucka that’s jealous, look at you
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| All in your feelings, you can’t help it
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| Nigga look at the ground where real niggas round
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| I can see through the fake love and fake pounds
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| I ain’t trippin' I don’t kick it wit em
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| Verses they can copy, as long as they got the ticket for it
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| DZA |