| Uh, yea, yea
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| Squinted-eye gangsta, live in a skyscraper
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| Platinum Patron-drinker, stackin’that grown paper
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| God pushed me out his nuts
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| The Devil swallowed me up, I burnt a hole in his guts
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| Fell down into a Louis Vitton truck
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| With stashboxes, and niggaz in it sayin’blast Nas shit
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| Drove down harm’s way, puffin’that Bombay
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| QB thug tattoo on my arm say
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| Names of my fam, so I’ma read you a scripture
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| And commandments to get you richer
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| Bandanas, hammers, MAC’s and nina’s
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| With the mismatched Pumas, like Shan in Queensbridge
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| All white shell toes, that’s that Queens thing
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| Brightland, ice wine, call that weed sling
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| Know where G slang
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| And the bitches with bomb ass that slurp on me and my comrades
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| Got a new contract, come on, black
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| Shit y’all just gettin’up on, I’m beyond that
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| No time for crumbs, I really don’t see them
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| They just started livin', just started havin’threesomes
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| Just started havin’girls who like them
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| That’s why I got married 'cause my world ain’t like them
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| So why they keep tellin’those stories?
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| Nigga, y’all square, nigga, this is my year, nigga |