| Keep my workers under pressure
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| Try to get the dough all
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| Never make mistakes, always come correct
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| Stepped up to get your rep up
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| The rep grows bigga (stay large)
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| Keep my workers under pressure
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| Try to get the dough all
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| Never make mistakes, always come correct
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| You can say I’m sort of the boss so get lost
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| You do your first bit of dirt to get your name known
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| You never talk too much to get your spot blown
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| Now you’re no longer just a face in the crowd
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| You’re gettin so much respect that niggas might as well bow
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| And movin up with your hustle like you planned it
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| Rakin' dough like the world’s greatest bandit
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| Always got one eye open, for the stick-up kids postin
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| So much cream chumps they can’t understand it
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| Ladies flock to your jock like it’s golden
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| Curious, to test the weight you be holdin
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| But you ain’t got no time, to be chasin felines
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| If she’s the chick that you pick then she gets chosen
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| People treat you like you’re ghetto royalty
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| And all your staff shows you utmost loyalty
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| You paid your dues, refuse to lose in this scenario
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| The rep grows bigga, you’re a legend and a hero
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| Your fame has gotten larger than your life
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| You’ve got a harem of bitches and killer niggas that’s hype
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| They got your back, but you so fly you don’t need em
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| You shit where you’re eatin so you don’t peep the proceedings
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| They start scheming, feeling that you’re too swollen
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| And that’s the reason why your cash and stash gets stolen
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| You start perspiring, because you’re paranoid
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| Still another confrontation that you couldn’t avoid
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| Prepare for drama, as if you were a stunt man
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| Back in the days you was a forty and a blunt man
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| Today you’re a Willie, now the weather’s too chilly
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| New York City ain’t the place to be frontin
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| Over your shoulders day and night’s where you look
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| Your so-called fam ran a scam, and you got shook
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| Go back to square one, better go talk to your son
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| See reps grow bigga in the life of a crook
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| Years ago, we were new jacks to this scene
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| Showed some effort, made fat records, but still saw no green
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| Know what I mean? |
| They tried to stifle us
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| Nigga you could not believe how really ill and trife it was
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| Fed up so we headed on a serious mission
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| Wishin, that we could better our position
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| Two businessmen, Guru and Preme, we enterprised
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| Too strong to be stepped on, creatively wise
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| The dedicated ministers of underground sound
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| When we’re doin our thing, you know we don’t fuck around
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| No matter how bizarre and different you think you are
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| Your team wouldn’t dream of competeing with GangStarr
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| Premier in the rear with the beats and cuts
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| And Guru with the mic ready to tear shit up
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| Take us out the game nigga? |
| How you figure?
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| The name is well kept, and the rep just gets bigga |