| Yeah, yeah
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| Yeah, yeah
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| Uh, uh
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| Back to back Cadillacs, black on black
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| Action Jackson, these niggas…
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| Huh, yeah
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| Back to back Cadillacs, black on black
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| Action Jackson, these niggas think they can rap
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| Pedal to the floor, '97 Polo Sport boat shoes
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| Smoking gorilla glue on a golf course
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| Never had source
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| But I’m the owner of a sought after Ferrari horse
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| Therefor underground rap star of some sort
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| Musical drug lord smoking out his sports cars
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| Been through it all, not bitter
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| But I’m quite thankful for the experience, I’m richer for it
|
| Clearly the bigger person seen the bigger picture
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| We seen hits before them niggas could hit us
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| Bitch you dealing with one of the top rhyme spitters
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| I’m hella high everywhere I am
|
| Hustle paid the rent and it bought the Bent
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| Put up a picket fence, bought the crib
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| My feet kicked up, the incense lit
|
| There it is
|
| Yes, I slid off the grid, big ass kid
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| Twenty pack of Kool-Aid Jammers in the fridge
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| Macaroni and barbecue ribs, straight diggin' in
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| Bad bitch in the kitchen made the pot flip
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| Full as a tick
|
| Grinding up a nugget then I twist
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| Back in the mix
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| Niggas tellin' their big brother Spitta back on his shit
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| stomper, big numbers
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| Low riders stuntin'
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| Winter to summer, nothing
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| I wasn’t bluffin' when I said I was coming back
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| To leave them motherfuckers with their noses runnin'
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| Dozing off on each other
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| Gettin' high fighting over
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| just pushing and shovin', graphic depiction
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| Put you bitches right in the middle of it
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| Food for thought, not for niggas with weak stomachs
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| Yeah, there it is
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| Jet Life, yeah |