| Why do I feel so alone?
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| Like everybody passing through the studio
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| Is in character as if he acting out a movie role
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| Talking bullshit as if it was for you to know
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| And I don’t have the heart
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| To give these bitch niggas the cue to go
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| So they stick around kicking out feedback
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| And I entertain it as if I need that
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| I had a talk with my uncle and he agreed that
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| My privacy about the only thing I need back
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| , but
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| It’s hard to think of them polite flows
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| When Stefano Pilati suits are your night clothes
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| And Jordan sweat suits are your flight clothes
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| And you still make it even when they say your flight closed
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| Eyes hurting from the camera phone light shows
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| Life was so full, now this shit just being lipo’d
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| Always said I’d say it all on the right track
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| But in this game you only lose when you fight back
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| Black diamond bracelets, showing you the basics
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| I can’t live and hold the camera, someone gotta tape this
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| And make hits like a bitch that’s married, I ain’t miss
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| 24 hours from greatness, I’m that close
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| Don’t ever forget the moment you began to doubt
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| Transitioning from fitting in to standing out
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| Los Angeles Cabanas or Atlanta South
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| Watchin' Hov’s show, embarrassed to pull my camera out
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| And my mother embarrassed to pull my Phantom out
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| So I park about five houses down
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| She say I shouldn’t have it until I have the crown
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| But I don’t wanna feel the need to wear disguises around
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| So she wonder where my mind is, accounts in the minus
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| But yet I’m rolling round the fuckin' city like your highness
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| Got niggas reactin' without a sinus
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| 'Cause what I’m working with is timeless
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| And promoters try to get me out to they club
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| And say I have fun but I can’t imagine how
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| 'Cause I just seen my ex-girl, standing with my next girl
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| Standing with the girl that I’m fuckin' right now
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| And shit could get weird unless they all down
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| And so I stay clear, we from a small town
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| And everybody talks and everybody listen
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| And somehow the truth just always comes up missing
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| I’ve always been something that these labels can’t buy
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| Especially if they tryin' to take a piece of my soul
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| And Sylvia be tellin' Tez, «Damn, Drake fly»
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| And he just be like, «Silly motherfucker, I know
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| That was your bad, how could you pass up on 'em?
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| He just take them records and he gas up on 'em
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| Wayne will prolly put a million cash up on 'em
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| Surprised no one ever put your ass up on 'em»
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| Oh, they did, Po, at least they tried to
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| And that’s what happen when you spitting what’s inside you
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| But slip up and shoot the wrong fucking video
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| And they think they can market you however they decide to
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| Nah, but 40 told me to do me
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| And don’t listen to anybody that knew me
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| 'Cause to have known me would mean that there’s a new me
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| And if you think I changed in the slightest, coulda fooled me
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| Boy, and to my city I’m the 2−3
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| Drug dealers live vicariously through me
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| I quit school and it’s not because I’m lazy
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| I’m just not the social type and campus life is crazy
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| Understand, I could get money with my eyes closed
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| Lost some of my hottest verses down in Cabo
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| So if you find a Blackberry with the side scroll
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| Sell that mothafucka to any rapper that I know
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| 'Cause they need it much more than I ever will
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| I got new shit, I’m gettin' better still
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| Little niggas put my name in they verses
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| 'Cause they girlfriend put my ass on a pedestal
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| Future said, «'Cause this 'Ye shit, you better kill»
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| And I think this got this Making-of-a-Legend feel
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| Problem with these other niggas, they ain’t never real
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| Yeah, that’s all I can say |