| Yeah
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| You know, always been a starter yung’un don’t do beach
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| Home grind derby, I’m headed for the feets
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| But instead of niggas standin up and cheer for me
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| Wanna see my momma cry, homies pour beer for me
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| I mean, once again I’m a product what you made me
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| Solid as a Roc I couldn’t sign with Jay-Z
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| See first Infrared, and then Bloodline
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| Now I’m a young boss and shorty it’s grill time
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| Back tatted for my niggas cause I love mine
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| And now this real talk, is no punchline
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| Yeah, and I ain’t speakin no riddles
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| My bro had squares with stamps in the middle
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| He used to take trips they would pack up the rental
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| Pop was at the crib, still workin on a demo
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| Yung livin reckless, blowin on chronic
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| Momma sent me off to school, said her son was demonic
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| Secluded from the world, I couldn’t see trees
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| But it gave me time to grow a little, time to do me
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| Writin raps in my head no beat
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| Fucked up bed, one pillow, no sheet
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| And my pops wrote a letter in about a month it reads
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| «Your time’s comin soon you’ll be out in a week»
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| I moved out to Cali with my big sister Eve
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| She had faith in a yung’un she just told me BELIEVE~!
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| Believe |