| I said. |
| fuck em all, muthafuck em all
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| Ya’ll done turned a good guy into a Chuckie doll
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| I would’ve been your friend till the end bitch
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| Guess there ain’t no friends in this shit bidness
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| Just a bunch of assholes in the shit bidness
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| But they won’t flush me down the toilet bowl without my tissue
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| These bitches talk shit out the same mouth they kiss you
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| These niggas kiss ass with the same mouth that diss you
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| Eww, you niggas disgust me
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| And they ain’t talkin bout shit unless they discuss me
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| Let’s talk about how, I’m killin errything I touches
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| Or how I walked in this game with no crutches
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| No Diddy, No Dupri, No Dr. Dre
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| No Cash Money from Baby and no rocs from Jay
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| And I’m still here
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| We still here
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| What does this break dude?.. It's still here
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| And dude talk, concernin New York
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| When I was runnin the city you was learnin to walk
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| So I watched you niggas take they first steps
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| And I was happy for ya, daddy was clappin for ya
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| But, wasn’t for me prolly wouldnt’ve happened for ya
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| So I rest my case
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| I’m a rappin lawyer
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| That’s unless you wanna talk bad bitches
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| Section full of bridezillas, that’s mad bitches
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| No words, I describe em with letters best
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| They pretty as can be, curvy as the letter «S»
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| They keep it G, they sweet as T
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| Look good in the passenger seat of V
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| They ride double R, smell like double C
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| The Bags are L.V., D, or a double G
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| Fly as hell, shades wire cell
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| On E, sippin P.J., high as hell
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| And please don’t even talk about swag
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| I’m cool and collective
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| A Fool with perspective
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| I’m far from being typical my respect is reciprocal
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| I already came up
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| You still on the zipper pull
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| And I would say my style is 5th Fab meets Brooklyn
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| I keep the hood watchin, I got the streets lookin
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| They watch what I do, so they know what to do
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| Lil money never told big money what to do
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| Money talks, if you speak guapanese
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| A language better known if you gettin cheddar holmes
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| If not get a loan, use that like Rosetta Stone
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| And that way you can holla bout a dolla
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| I hear em cryin broke, they holla like a toddler
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| Come holla at yo gualla, dont holla at sovallas
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| You’ll end up down under tryna holla at Koalas
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| I keep that nine on me, ala Iguodala
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| We can get it jumpin like the drolics on Impala
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| I feel like Neno lettin em rock wallas off the colla
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| Somebody tell me something, What the fuck happened?
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| Somebody talk to me, muthafuck rappin
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| They infiltrated the game, but who let in the pookies?
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| Kingpins is snitchin that shit is not lookey
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| So fuck new friends unless they stay solo
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| Cuz who gon' watch you back after you kill Manolo?
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| Isn’t it ironic Santana’s own fella stabbed him
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| The king of New York die while I yellow cabbed him
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| No Carlito’s way
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| When I spot a hater drop him like a hot potatoe
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| Youahead, got me later
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| Yeah I keep it gangsta but Im’ma do it my way
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| The new day of the week is called My day
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| So its my say, Pass my K
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| I’m thru talkin |