| Whether or not you understanding, this is the plot
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| This is the end, Cudi on my speakers again
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| Pop a script it got me ripping up my pages
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| These words won’t live forever so a nigga gotta make them
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| High as Seven Seals on the real I cook with the apron
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| Today I’m feeling Cajun in a haven made for a pagan, yea
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| Was infiltrated by niggas need me a Glock or something
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| Shock a nigga leave the sock on top and rock it to 'em
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| If this was the 80's I’d be flipping packs in the locker room
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| Raised by Raegan babies we was taught to maneuver fumes
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| Bachelor moods, hoping this bourbon won’t resurface
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| Spatula flipping writtens into the oven furnace
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| Brick by brick I tore it down like the crucifix
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| That pinned me down as a young’n going through some shit
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| Thoughts in the sewer now I’m really going through some shit
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| And it’s no hard, and it’s no hard
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| And its no hard feelings (None at all, none at all)
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| And its no hard feelings (None at all, none at all)
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| I’ma get this money without you
|
| I’ma get to drinking without you (Po' me up, po' me up)
|
| And its no hard feelings (None at all, none at all)
|
| And its no hard feelings (None at all, none at all)
|
| I’ma get this money without you
|
| I’ma get to drinking without you (Po' me up, po' me up)
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| Get used to it
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| Flew off the rail, nose grind unamused to it
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| You are the muse that I amuse until the AM
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| Refusing to sleep cause these raps do pay 'em
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| By them I mean the bodies that I’m slaying
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| Gatekeepers, wack niggas on the FM so
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| F- them nah fuck y’all niggas
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| Crowd favorite so they sent me here to murk y’all niggas
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| Contracted in a cage with your face off nigga
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| Been a time I only had a parking ticket to my name
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| What you fabricate won’t activate inside the lane I’m in
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| I mean them ends is worth nothing
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| Bring the bag or keep it dumping
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| I see headlines in my future
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| But how when niggas flexing 8balls size of loofahs
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| Or roofied in the coup with twenty women from Bermuda
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| Super soak a ho repeatedly, went dipping with a scuba
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| Who the fuck is you bruh?
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| West Orlando from the bandos to the Barnett
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| Park far from you lames if a target
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| Scope feel safer from a range, kill your Margaret
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| Skill-wise we are margins away
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| Class of my own like Margiela skates
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| I scoff as I blow fumes grown out of state
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| State prop we the chain gang running up the block, nigga
|
| And its no hard feelings (None at all, none at all)
|
| And its no hard feelings (None at all, none at all)
|
| I’ma get this money without you
|
| I’ma get to drinking without you (Po' me up, po' me up)
|
| And its no hard feelings (None at all, none at all)
|
| And its no hard feelings (None at all, none at all)
|
| I’ma get this money without you
|
| I’ma get to drinking without you (Po' me up, po' me up) |