| Damn, that’s how it’s gon' be
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| Just gotta do it all myself
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| Fuck that Imma do it my way then
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| Yeah
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| I told my moms one day that I’ll become known
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| Over any track I’d get dumb on even if it’s a drum and a trombone
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| How could I’ve lost it when I’m inspired
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| Then keep excuses sounding tired and possibilities exhausted
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| To everything that’s working out for me
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| But don’t read me up and down and think you know my story
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| Cuz even when it was written for me to be poor it wasn’t written poorly
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| Getting tested by dropouts and old schools who sit and score me
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| High grades of weed who was willing to die paid
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| While I stayed harpin' over how I sharpen my blade
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| By trade tryin' to snatch a dream out a nightmare
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| Reality out a dream even though it seem I’m right where
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| I seen myself when I was dreaming
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| I’m supposed to be shopping at Neiman Marcus
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| And sheddin' light on my darkest demon
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| After I realized that everything would go fine
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| I saw it happen without a co-sign
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| So they could say I been slummin'
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| And throw shots at my income
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| But when I drop holler «incomin'»
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| From the explosion that my pen summon
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| It’s mind-blowing yet I’m sick of going through life
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| With a knife in my spine showin'
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| With everyone who’s talking from behind knowin'
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| So I can’t miss my shot like Shyne Po and
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| Rondo’in so watch the dime go in
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| Till I’m raking in cash and cutting through a snake in the grass
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| Lawn mowing
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| Slit his tongue for trying to spill venom
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| The wisest soldier knows I’ll fold your clothes
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| While you’re still in ‘em
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| Till I’m swimmin' in women between the coast line
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| Know what happened without a co-sign
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| I’m from the D
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| Where your window face a deprived view
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| They jacked you in the drive-thru
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| While you order a number 3
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| Buildings dilapidated dreams of putting your city on the map deflated
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| Some died over beef that was rap-related
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| And I know how it feels to think you living in a bubble
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| Can’t double your dividends
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| You’re likely giving into trouble
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| I grew up where we wasn’t fed well
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| Bodies with a dead smell
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| They moved birds like a bread trail
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| Now it’s a bag from they knapsack
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| With prices on they head
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| And I ain’t talking bout the tag on they snapback
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| Thank God I never injected or sniffed a nose line
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| I did it all without a co-sign
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| Yeah
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| Keep telling yourself that El
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| You stumblin' on the right path
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| Eventually you get there
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| I may not fly to the finish line
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| But I’ll be there in time
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| Cruisin' the mile in my old school style
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| Detroit red in my mind
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| No street lights no signs
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| I don’t need co-signs
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| Cuz I don’t see I don’t see I don’t need co-signs
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| I don’t need co-signs |