| Sometimes I write about the streets and how life is expirin
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| Mainly through a choir then
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| Neighbors inquirin, hearin shots firin
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| Police sirens, been in car chases, I be in Scarface’s tire and
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| Snitches per-spirin, cause they wearin wires when
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| They know they can be killed by who built the steet empires and
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| It’s hard to get a job, cause ain’t nobody hirin
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| And more people get laid off, than retirin
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| I write about the liar, the preacher with the choir and
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| The church who didn’t soul search and never was desirin
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| How money’s inspirin, the youth and the environment
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| Just tryin to get flyer than the elders they admirin
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| Don’t want to be a fireman, cause dealers get you high and
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| Spend dough, buy a Benz and furnish they entire den
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| Look into my eyes again, see it for yourself
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| See the jewel is for your brain, the G is for your wealth
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| Sometimes you may hear me writin that next shit
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| Different from how some rhyme
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| You like it when I write that hit
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| You love it when I write that shit
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| Sure you do, don’t try to fight that
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| So when I hear a beat, an idea appears (suddenly)
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| Then another rhyme is written (suddenly)
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| I put it down, put it out, you listen to it then it hits your soul
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| (suddenly) Yeah, yeah (yeah, yeah…)
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| Sometimes I write about the ladies, the ones with the tatas and the apple
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| bottoms
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| They ones I gave the eye highs to when I got on
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| Because before they didn’t cherish me
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| I write about the smart ones, the ones that need therapy
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| Them hoodrat broads, them afrocentric queens
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| And them ones that let you get between their jeans for the green
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| I wrote about my exes, Takara, Alexis
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| To write about the next miss and how great the sex is
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| Ones who were sexist, those who throw hexes
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| Crack Beckses and ask you were your Lex is
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| That baby mama drama, them drama mama babies
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| The skeez, the ones who like to tease, but are the maybe’s
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| The independent ladies, hookers and them daisies
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| The sane ones, the crazies, the straight ones, the gays, deez
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| Are women that have been in my life
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| Now will it end when I begin with a wife?
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| I don’t know
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| Sometimes you may hear me writin that next shit
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| Different from how some rhyme
|
| You like it when I write that hit
|
| You love it when I write that shit
|
| Sure you do, don’t try to fight that
|
| So when I hear a beat, an idea appears (suddenly)
|
| Then another rhyme is written (suddenly)
|
| I put it down, put it out, you listen to it then it hits your soul
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| (Suddenly) Yeah, yeah, one more time, check it out
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| Sometimes you may hear me writin that next shit
|
| Different from how some rhyme
|
| You like it when I write that hit
|
| You love it when I write that shit
|
| Sure you do, don’t try to fight that
|
| So when I hear a beat, an idea appears (suddenly)
|
| Then another rhyme is written (suddenly)
|
| I put it down, put it out, you listen to it then it hits your soul
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| (Suddenly) Yeah, yeah (yeah, yeah…)
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| Sometimes I write about a theme
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| From out a motion picture or somethin out a dream
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| Or in a chosen scripture, a fictional novel
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| The WAIT your alive so
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| Like a revival, Jesus and rival
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| There’s really no rival
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| I’m too diverse, when I do my verse
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| You, you, die worse
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| Rather rap shit or battle, decoy, slowly rot
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| Like it or not boy, it’s gon' be hot
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| Street shit, club shit, the flow blow the spot
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| Like it or not boy, it’s gon' be hot
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| Girl shit, brag shit, your boy knows me not
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| If he ever doubts (boy it’s gon' be hot!) (hot)
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| Suddenly — repeated until the end |