| Yeah, yeah, listen, yo
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| These hungry rappers battle for a buck and some change
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| There really be kids starving, give a fuck if it change
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| Shock rap, not that, you get signed, you might blow up
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| Release «Party in Iraq», you might blow up
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| I see you trying to think a few lines you might get at me with
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| Slap happy with babies who born with crack in they cribs
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| Too much to cram under your over-sized fitted
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| And the public school system failed you
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| Either you’re ig’nant or what is it?
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| Ain’t concerned with scuff on my sneakers
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| My demographic listening but not too many rappers teaching
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| And I find a way to fill a hard drive up
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| With songs containing mainly «bitch», «ho», «shit», «fuck»
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| Yo, you know what’s up, there’s some ill shit going on
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| So long there’s topics that I haven’t really spoken on
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| I’m just like you, a kid who wants to rap
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| Get money, put an album out, mansion with a fountain spout
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| Out in the front yard, sidewalk leading to the street
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| Which leaves me to speak
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| My speech reaches the whole world and yet still
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| I’d rather rap about what I got or what I do to you
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| If you disrespect, you guessed it, I’m shooting you
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| But who’s the true villain and who’s illing
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| Mixtape and gun shot ain’t really killing
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| People dying, it’s tough luck
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| Can’t figure out if I’m the problem or the world’s just fucked up |