| And the world still spins going round and round
|
| You just gotta make it until the lost is found
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| (Hit me
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| Matter of fact)
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| And the, and the world still spins goin' around and round and round
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| (Get your stamps on your passport up, you dig what I’m saying
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| It’s next level shit man)
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| (This ain’t revolutionary it’s evolutionary
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| Evolve my nigga)
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| And the, and the world still spins goin' round and round and round
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| Starve myself like Ghandi on behalf of my art
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| Believe I give you my all, never half of my heart, breathe for you
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| Travel millions of miles at jet speed for you
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| Even overseas we’re blue
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| Keep it regional? |
| I had no reason to
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| Art minus the easel, I’m unbelievable
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| Fled the coast just to change the climates, Cayman Islands
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| Puff on the loud 'til my whole gang was silent
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| My change piling, so fly I could change pilots
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| Campaign whiling, my brain remain clouded
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| My mind storm, when it’s time to perform
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| To be honest if I clicked it, probably porn
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| Your raps bore me, I couldn’t have fathered your style
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| Just ask Maury, take the glory
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| I take the gouda, you know the story, the avenue I grew up
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| Niggas thought I trade my old life for a new one, nah
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| Guess who’s back, as if I’d left
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| Excuse me, I been busy
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| I’ve been on my grizzly
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| Had to put on for my city
|
| Guess who’s back, as if I’d left
|
| Excuse me, I’ve been my busy
|
| I’ve been on my busy
|
| Had to put on for my city
|
| Guess who’s back
|
| Look up in the sky, it’s a bird, it’s a plane
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| Nah, that’s just a grizzly representing this game
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| Mississippi roots, I descended from slaves
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| Far from Lynchburg, but I know where niggas hang
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| I just spent enough dollars on my chain
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| So much, I done seen to dollars turn into change, holla
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| I want to be royalty to the rap scholars
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| Make hits, take hits like Math Hoffa
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| Fash hotter than a favela in Guatemala
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| 8 baby mamas sittin' in the sauna
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| I wasn’t KKK but I understood
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| Why it’s hard to hibernate in my hood
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| Before I ever seen an itinerary
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| I made 57 visits to the cemetery
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| From a derelict, to a diety
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| Easily I make a atheist believe in me, now
|
| Guess who’s back, as if I’d left
|
| Excuse me, I been busy
|
| I’ve been on my grizzly
|
| Had to put on for my city
|
| Guess who’s back, as if I’d left
|
| Excuse me, I’ve been my busy
|
| I’ve been on my busy
|
| Had to put on for my city
|
| Guess who’s back
|
| Fuck anybody who thought it was over, literally
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| Only thing I left was my mark on the culture
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| Niggas fear me, clearly they are not on my level
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| I’m a prophet, a rebel, obviously ghetto
|
| Cockin' my metal, autograph signer
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| When I stop at Valero, had a twelve-year-old kid tell me I was his hero
|
| But instead of a cape, I wear a cap
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| Who’s to say I alter my faith, that ain’t a fact
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| Even before adolescence, Fash was destined
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| Craft perfected from a dirty pad I sketched in
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| From lad to legend, I made it to London
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| Imagine if I had stayed in the dungeon, nigga
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| I would have never signed to Esco, never rhymed with Rakim
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| Tell me, how could I ever let go huh?
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| Your fantasy ain’t fuckin' with my facts
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| Somebody tell these bustas out the back
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| Shawn, stacks
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| I’m back
|
| Excuse me, I’ve been busy
|
| I’ve been on my grizzle
|
| Had to put on for my city, but
|
| (Somebody tell 'em that I’m back, nigga)
|
| Excuse me, I’ve been busy
|
| I’ve been on my grizzle
|
| Had to put on for my city, but |