| Born in the Hills Beverly in '63
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| Only son of a rich mom and dad
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| But dad was a jerk and mom did not work, it drove him mad
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| When mom and dad died, late last July
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| He got the house and the plane
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| And now he just laughs and smokes his coke all day
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| From New York to Tokyo
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| Its all about the dough
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| Its the coin, its the cash, its the currency stash
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| Its the money that keeps us goin'
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| The streets of Brooklyn are riddled with crooks and
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| Dope dealers who don’t give a f*ck
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| Its all about hustling and scheming and making a buck
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| They rule the block with one hand on their Gloch
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| Its the ghetto that keeps 'em in
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| But they don’t have a chance, its the same circumstance in the end
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| He passes the years from atop his John Deere
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| Surveying the fields from above
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| Its not much to some, but he’s happy to do what he loves
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| Its been apples and pears, and a hundred state fairs
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| Nothing more than a quiet, simple life
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| His only regret is he never found time for a wife |