| On the same corner
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| Under the same street sign they was raised under
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| They fought so many fights for it
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| Going to court, selling that white horse
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| Porcelain snort, scorch a blunt on the porch
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| And take an alchy to the cranium
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| Steal out of liquor stores owned by legal aliens
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| Needles laying in the summer my friends
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| Looking like they lack the hunger, they thin
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| With beady eyes some i don’t see alive
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| The other half’s breathing with the weed in their lungs
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| Hate in their heart
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| It’s just a game so they’re playing their part
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| Get into arguments and bust strays in the park
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| Stay out 'til the day in the dark
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| Then vice-a versa
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| Gambling with dice for a better life they search for while others ended
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| And send their mother to that other clinic
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| Where people lose their mind, through illusion time
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| Yet some’ll get their loot through crime
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| Very few pursue a fluent dime, the truest grind
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| I guess that’s the way they are
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| Are, are, are
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| (look at my friends)
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| Get their doors knocked down by the law
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| Hot wire cars, shot by afar
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| Getting handcuffed in front of their son
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| They hustle looking for a number to run
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| Some are poor, trying to floss and get their hundred in ones
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| But them brothers is young
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| And looking for the wrong guidance
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| Can’t sleep hearing beep the long sirens
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| Cops chasing criminals over their walls climbing to get away
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| Getting out of jail in a day
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| Visiting funeral homes in their newest cologne
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| Hand-me-down suit on their bones to visit their boy
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| Hitting hoodrats without the rubber
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| Bad mouth their mother 'cause she kicked him out the house
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| They grab out the gutter
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| Warrants for their arrest, on the basketball court with a vest
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| Can’t sell their product right 'cause they snort up the rest
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| Before they were sort of depressed, they homeless
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| Stop a child for a quarter or less or maybe more
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| Wrong order i guess, you get the picture
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| As if your mental picture’s distorted and stressed
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| They chainsmoking, short on their breath
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| Guess that’s the way the are
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| Smile in your face and stab you in the back
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| At a rave in the bathroom, sampling the crack
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| Sported fades from a half moon, now it’s brushed waves
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| Physically they grew but mentally they just stayed
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| Went from balling their fist to hauling the revolver to twist
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| Your wig back, you just no longer will exist
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| The wrist you click clack over fish and big mac
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| Orders in the drive thru
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| Had a daughter when in high school
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| We bought her nice boots with a Shearling for the winter
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| For that girl he give her the world, is twirling in the center
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| Saw him hurling from the liquor
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| Paranoid when he got blow we got owed, now we’re barely boys
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| Moving in different directions, both sick of the stressing
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| I kick lyric profession, he quick to get you undressing with the wesson |