| Yeah, I appreciate ya patience tonight
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| It’s been a moment since I’ve done some public speaking
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| I find nowadays it’s just best to keep quiet
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| But, uh, sometimes you just gotta let it out
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| Young angel and young lion
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| You know what it is, uh
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| Look, I’m the property of October
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| I ain’t drive here I got chauffeured
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| Bring me champagne flutes,
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| Rose and some shots over
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| I think better when I’m not sober
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| I smoke good ain’t no glaucoma
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| I’m a stockholder,
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| Private flights back home no stop over
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| Still spittin that shit that they shot pac over
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| The shit my mother look shocked over
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| Yeah, but with a canvas I’m a group of seven
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| A migraine, take two Excedrin
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| I’m the one twice over I’m the new eleven
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| And if I die I’m a do it reppin, I never do a second
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| I swear niggas be eyeing me all hard
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| And lying to they girls and driving the same cars
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| Sittin there wishing they problems became ours
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| Cause we have nothing in common
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| Since I done became star
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| I done became bigger swerving right in my peer’s lane
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| Same dudes that used to holla my engineer’s name
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| One touch I could make the drapes and the sheers change
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| An show me the city that I without fear claim
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| What I set seems to never extinguish
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| Coolest kid out baby word to Chuck English
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| Count my own money see the paper cut fingers
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| My song is ya girlfriend’s waking up ringer
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| Heh, or alarm, or whatever
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| She be here at six in the morn if I let her
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| But I never get attracted to fans
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| Cause the eager beaver could be the collapse of a dam
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| I always knew that I could figga
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| How to get these label heads to offer 'em good figures
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| And me doing them shows gettin everyone nervous cause
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| Them hipsters gonna have to get alone with them hood niggas
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| It’s all good I’m going off like lights when the show’s over
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| Make pasta rent a movie called hoes over
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| Rest in peace to heath ledger but I’m no joker
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| I’ll slow roast ya, got no holster
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| Wet glass on ya table nigga no coaster
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| Burn bread everyday boy no toaster
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| G and tez got a cig but I’m no smoker
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| They just handing chips to me nigga no poker
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| I’m with it, young money, cash money soldier
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| My cup runneth over,
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| The same niggas I ball with, I fall with
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| On some southern drawl shit
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| Rookie of the year, '06 Chris Paul shit
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| D.r., c. |
| j, an po' I see y’all
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| These cases don’t workout I hope we can agree on
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| Making enough to pay any judge Judy off
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| First thing I’m a do is free weezy, go
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| And I take probation
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| I don’t want that t.I. |
| and Vick vacation
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| Private plane, big location
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| Going to the bank to make a big donation
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| Yeah, I don’t stunt, I stunt hard
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| And if the food ain’t on the stove I hunt for it
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| But in the meantime you can call me young Roy
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| Jones junior fighting the drugs and gun charge
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| Shit, don’t leave me un-guarded
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| And I’m a cheese head word to Vince Lombardi
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| Word to marky mark leave a snitch departed
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| All that blood like the red sea parted
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| My gun go crazy like it’s retarded
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| Red light on it like it’s recording
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| I ain’t recording I’m just C-4'in
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| My currency foreign
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| We are in a league they aren’t
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| Better dig in ya pocket an pay homage
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| Better cover ya eyes ya face falling
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| Watch the game from the side I’m play calling
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| No I didn’t say that I’m flawless
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| But I, damn sure don’t tarnish
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| My pistol got comments for ya garments
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| I’m so high I can vomit on a comet
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| K-y no homo I’m on it
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| Weezy f baby new born bitch
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| You know what they say bout when ya palm itch
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| I’m gonna get money money I’m gonna get
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| Young money in ya tummy and we gonna shit
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| An get that toilet paper quick like when bone spit
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| That’s right bitch I’m back on my grown shit
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| That oughta Marvin Gaye no ice just chrome shit
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| And ya boyfriend softer than a foam pit
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| I scream fuck the world with a long dick
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| Motherfucker I’m me, yeah bitch I’m me
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| You niggas sweet like the pussy in which I eat
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| Fireman burn down ya entire street
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| So fly I’m a take off when I leap, bye
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| And you can suck my wings
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| Stand on my money headbutt yao Ming
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| Put your hand in the oven if ya touch my things
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| I’m shuffling the cards bout to cut my queens
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| But I ain’t the dealer
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| House full of bitches like tila tequila
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| Yeah, I’m the man in the mirror
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| My swagger just screaming motherfucker do you hear her
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| Drizzy drake what the lick read
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| We make magic boy Roy and Sigfried
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| Who! |
| young mullah baby, yeah |