| The world at my sneakers
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| Gold pieces molded with Jesus features
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| Give streets the fever from the way I spit the Ether
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| Came on the scene at 19 a gritty fiend for
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| Money, power, respect, get it by any means uh
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| New Yorker, slick talker, walk like a brick flipper
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| Decimal doctor, multiply to get richer
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| I’m a entrepreneur, I’m the heart of the city
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| I’m a part of the sewers, I’m the honorable Diddy
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| I taste the dirt in my sweat, that’s from the Harlem struggle
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| All in my swagger that’s the reason why I got my hustle
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| I got the highest stature, Miami diamond flasher
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| I got you caught in the most flyest and stylish rapture
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| My signature next to Christopher Wallace, get it honest
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| My first album due to him, that was my biggest project
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| Now I’m the illest known to walk like the illest soldier
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| And when I smoke, only roll up with the illest doja
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| You sit and mull it over my venom a killer cobra
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| It’s Harlem USA, I diddy bop and shop with Oprah
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| (Yeah nigga, what)
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| Nigga what
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| From my voice I’m killing 'em
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| I shed my blood
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| About everything I love
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| To the eye blacker, over handed face the palm smacker
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| Good scrapper, cat stacker, good wood packer
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| Tear up the Dom P wrappers faster
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| Platinum Patrón splasher, fuck Cris', spit atcha
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| I call it rich ignorant laughter
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| Black American express card all grey now, its scratched up
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| From constant usage, girl kidnapper, pop tags off tags
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| Poppa making monster music, and still I Costra Nostra
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| Big roaster, skin cola, girl when I send for ya
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| Bring friends wontcha?
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| I’m from the 80s, NYC 5 percent of culture
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| Breeze through with that old school blue malaroma
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| Wrist glowing, ho-ing, fly off in a Boeing
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| Slide off with your ho, and spend six figures on her
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| My persona, Sean John unforgivable cologne
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| Copping the biggest diamonds makes me sorta bi-polar
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| Ferrari to Phantom, vehicles for high rollers
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| The studded chain around my neck, it makes the night colder
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| (Yeah nigga, what.)
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| Nigga what
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| From my voice I’m killing 'em
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| I shed my blood
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| About everything I love
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| The Queens Crypt keeper, Mets hat rocker
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| Pretty bitch slobber, ex-robber
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| Heister, my own life biographer
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| Pants sagging, Bentley whipping
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| Summer Jam stopper, Timb Chuck wearing
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| Cranapple Vodka, then I spray choppers
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| A doctor in the jungles of Haiti made me
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| Draped in paisley bandanas, suits with Adam Stacey
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| Cigar like Dick Tracy, its dark I get spacey
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| Alcohol and laced weed, that was part of my 80s
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| The Cartier consiglieres be near me
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| Canary yellow cuts in my pinky yearly
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| Liz Taylor tried to jux me
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| 'Cause I keep it green like the other side of Bill Bixby
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| When he gets mean
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| Think fast 'fore I blast hoes like Grassy Knoll
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| Went from scraggly old clothes to the illest fashion
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| And realest rappin'
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| Pablo back on the scene, won’t roll back up with green
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| Strictly paper cruising through the strip in Vegas
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| Two of New York’s biggest niggas
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| Y’all used to hate us, but now you love us
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| Nas and Diddy, power hustlers
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| (Yeah nigga, what)
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| Nigga what
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| From my voice I’m killing 'em
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| I shed my blood
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| About everything I love |