| Young never been dumb, hunnit round drum
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| Feeling like the Iron Sheik
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| Global gang, fast money made man
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| Bitch we the secret society
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| Young niggas, hammers twice they age
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| And I know that they gon' ride for me
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| I could get you wacked for a quarter P
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| I make the right call and you gon' die for free
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| Who the fuck you niggas thought it was
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| D-O-double-L-A, robbing all the plugs
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| Mami with me, saying fuck her with the slugs
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| So I’m drugging and thugging, sinning and winning
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| I’m paid for speaking english, you would think I passed
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| Chewing on these flats, burning up this gas
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| Drinking on this mud, thinking will I last
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| Why I’m moving fast, getting to this cash
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| Still with that action
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| I still get it bracking, I’m still really macking
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| I still get it popping
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| I’m still on that block, going broke is no option
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| Still got that work
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| Its 8th letter 'til dirt, niggas going berserk
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| We got it for cheap
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| Niggas fuck with the squad, you be dead in a week
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| You wanna tell me the definition of real rap
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| And differentiate trill rap and drill rap
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| If I left it up to you niggas, you prolly kill rap
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| You could thank your guardian angels that Chizzy still rap
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| Cause niggas needing more then some helping hands
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| Whole bunch of yes men, lying to you, fronting on the next man
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| Knowing damn well that’s they best man
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| Back an fourth an round an round an never was your goddamn
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| Let me sip this chamomile and chill
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| Getting turnt up, still all indecisive 'bout the pills
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| Feeling burnt out, wishing that another bitch would
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| Or her nigga will, acting like they really in the field
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| Fuck you to do when they don’t keep it real
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| Tell me what the deal fool, tell me how you feel
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| Cause I’m feeling shade, they ask me about the moves I make
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| And my pocket change (tell me 'bout yo pocket change, nigga)
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| Is it cause I copped an ounce, then I rolled an eighth
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| Then I sold a half, sold a dime of shake
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| Stayed away from weight, gained some weight
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| Never stopped for breaks, when it’s fuck the cake
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| Fuck you saying, counting bands, selling Xans with my mans
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| As it stands, I’m the plug should you need one
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| Niggas on the 'gram selling grams, you should see them
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| Shit is like a rerun, now they screaming «free them heathens»
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| Never any better, on my carpe diem |