| Right or wrong is not the question
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| The question, who remains in this profession?
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| It’s the same as it ever was and will be
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| The game might change but the players still filthy
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| For real, fill it up till that cup runneth (Over)
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| I got a weak stomach, throwin' it up and keep gunnin'
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| Gin rummy, king of the deck, I go dummy
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| What’s a king with respect and no money? |
| I think hungry
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| You got a hunch, go fish like you never choke
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| I’m out to lunch at dinner, like you never smoke
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| I never quote, «It's the best that I ever wrote»
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| But everyone sealed the same in the envelopes
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| I send notes out, clearin' the coast out
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| Appear then disappearin' in a ghost town
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| I get ghost now, the job is done
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| From 1−0-4−5-6 to 9−0-2−9-1 (It's magic)
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| Of a kind, I’m original, could short cuts
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| Custom Doctor Romanelle stitched, drap the windows of the tour bus
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| Money moves, Ebenezer Scrooge, Daddy Warbucks
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| Press a button in the Delorean, lift the doors up
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| Make ‘em dance, aim for the Bally and hit the floors up
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| Bum rappers kneel, before Zod
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| I put my hand on a stack of Bibles and swore to God
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| To move the crowd like a bomb scare
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| Every time you hear me speak on a record I raise the arm hair
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| Full throttle, celebration bottle, don pair
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| Bundles in the tux, fold it up like a lawn chair
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| Turn over the pillow, pimp guerillo
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| When I’m finished I scrap the plate with the Brillo
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| Saran wrap over the kilo, then I split open a cigarillo
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| And blow the success outta the window, it’s magic |