| In a cage that can hold me
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| So we go way back, that’s the old me
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| They all been talking but don’t know a thing
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| About my struggle in life, that’s insulting
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| Running the upholstery, gun in the safe
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| I ain’t never shot one inside, but it’s late
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| And my head won’t stop talking, I tried walking
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| 'Round the block a few times, but still it’s not stopping
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| I’m losing it now, I just don’t get it
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| «Have you been drinking again, man? |
| What is it?
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| Don’t you see all of these people who listen
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| And hang on the words that you’ve written?"yeah, get it
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| But I’m in another zone, when these mics go
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| Got a fear of the light like I’m
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| I might go psycho on a track like a 51−50
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| I’ve been tryna to put it on for everybody in my city
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| (Yeah, body in my city)
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| Feeling the pressure, but I will not let this shit break me, I know it
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| (Break me, I know it)
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| Lights on the strip, with my crew in this bitch, kinda hard to stay focused
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| Bustin' up the frame, everything is the same
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| All of the music wack, trying to make a name
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| Getting another head, another wait for the shit to go
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| I’m working atop the last shit I wrote a few minutes ago
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| And trying to stick me in the dark, I’m thinking the limit
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| The growth I’ve been on that trajectory, just wait for the missile
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| To blow and bust in through the door
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| I know they planning on keeping
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| They’re tryna tryna keep a cooler copacetic for all of us, but
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| (All of us, but)
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| I’m just not feeling that vibe no more
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| Trapped in this room, I can’t write no more
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| Not enough drugs to get high again
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| Everyone’s trying to act like a friend
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| But I’m just not feeling that vibe no more
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| No more
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| no fake friends
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| Got some old Eminem in the tape deck
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| Skateboard shoes in the trunk, with the skate deck
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| Fake heads tryna plot against me, got replacements
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| Let it ride, and every rapper talking suicide
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| Mix a little with a little Sprite
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| Trying to live in the moment, the music feeling like
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| The only thing I got in my world that could make me feel alright
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| See I found my own space now
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| I’m looking at some newcomers in the bank account
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| (Bank account)
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| I’m not trying to brag, I’m just saying how
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| You can make it happen, despite the people who hate it now
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| Got 'em tripping, I feel like I’m on a mission
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| To get the people to listen, they got me suspicion
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| But when I step to the mic, and let you in on the vision
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| They see that some things are forever, but the real shit isn’t
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| Ready to pop, I’m making the grave in my backyard
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| Can barely get up the hopes, in these wannabe rap stars
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| And hoping for fast cars, and political campaign
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| I think I’ve been doing just fine, in that lane but
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| (Fine in that lane, but)
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| I’m just not feeling that vibe no more
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| Trapped in this room, I can’t write no more
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| Not enough drugs to get high again
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| Everyone’s trying to act like a friend
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| But I’m just not feeling that vibe no more
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| No more |