| Yeah… that’s right
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| Hardy Boys shit… uh huh
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| Smoke a Winston to this shit, nigga
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| Word up, 'bout to fuckin' throw ya head up, yeah
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| Yo, yo he got his stones from Greece
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| In mouth he had like thirty plus karats
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| Big ratchets, smoke cigars like a Bogart classic
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| Told niggas if he dies he want a glass casket
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| Parents died when he was five years old
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| Made his way inside the US with Colombian Gold
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| A fake name in the passport
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| Benetton luggage, one sister, pretty thing, light skin
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| Niggas will body over her like fuck it
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| With a scar by her left eye
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| Her brother Alex was extremely close, he sold coats and minks
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| Had trays put in toilets and sinks
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| Loved to roller skate, ninety nine did time up in Rahway
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| Came home blown, the thorough kings and soldiers
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| Never gave a fuck about that MC beef in Queens
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| Alex, he was a rich nigga
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| He had close to ten bodies under his belt
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| His man did the last one and got murdered himself
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| Took him a while to get his head together
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| Alex one day out in LA, made a call in New York
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| Told his man Oc, God it’s goin' down, fly the whole team in for support
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| Remember that Ray shit that Jamie Foxx played? |
| That was my shit
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| I never got paid, they got rich off a stolen script
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| In ninety eight I seen Charles on the Cali strip
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| Showed him the copyrights, his life in the real flick
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| In Braille, he read it in no time
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| Hit me with his math, said I’ll give you some more lines
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| Real talk, stand up dude
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| Said how you like Jamie Foxx to replay you? |
| He said yea that’s cool
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| But under one circumstance, you think he can bow my walk, flip my talk and my
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| hands?
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| I said sure why not, he can imitate anything trust me this young boy hot
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| Shook his hand then I bounced in the limo
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| Grabbed my cell, bit my cigar and then rolled down the window
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| Contacted Stony Brook and Roberts
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| Told them we got an intent letter, yo Ray Ray signed it
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| Now we can move on and shoot this live shit
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| With mad options, Paramount and DreamWorks we shop it
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| Or Mandalay and New Line cop it
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| I go and get ten mil' and blow it on the independent market
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| But anyway down in PF Changs, I had a meeting with this rich investor
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| Said they’ll throw twenty million on the kid’s film only if he chose the cast
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| He was drunk, he was talkin' real fast
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| So I test his mouth, laid back then I put him on blast
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| Where exactly we gon' get this cash?
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| I gotta ill Gotti Gigante connect
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| Wise guys that kill Bulotti, catching bodies, earnin' respect
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| The waiter came in a dropped off the shrimp fried rice he ordered
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| I said thanks as he poured my water
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| Then out came the veggie rolls, sesame chicken and mint tea
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| Rice wine had me wanting to pee
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| Said excuse me I’ll be right back, pardon me
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| Grabbed his glass and he nodded to me
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| Skated off to take a piss, the shit felt like a nut
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| Got back the dude vanished, briefcase, script, and all
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| Ask the waiter where he go, the motherfucker spoke Spanish |