| Young Hov got the block on smash
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| Put the gun to the back and hop on some ass
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| Nigga fresh-dressed and stay poppin’tags
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| Put the (?) on the truck 'for I drop the rag
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| Bitches want to bring up the topic of my past
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| It’s legendary in the hood how I got my cash
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| I’m legendady in the hood so I got the mag
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| And I’ve never been a fronter so I’ve got to blast
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| Will I flash… Not…
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| As I’m not playing with you motherfuckers the casket drops
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| You bastards not gon’assassinate the name I got
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| Ya’ll hear me though
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| Young Hov got the block on smash
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| And everybody and their momma want to stop my cash
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| Everybody want drama with the top of the brass
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| 'Til I come through hop out the cab
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| 1−8-7 they ass
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| (Stop) Somebody 'gon (Drop) Ya’ll hear me though…
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| Young Hov got the game in a frenzy
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| Twenty million sold all independently
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| So when you mention me Make sure you got together your 'semblies
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| Like he’s the games J.F.Kennedy
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| I started out I ain’t have no chimney
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| My ma was Santa Claus, well at least she pretended to be
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| 'Til one night, well that’s if memory serves me correct I caught her under
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| the Christmas tree
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| Young Hov ain’t have no pops
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| Thank God man I had the block
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| Ya’ll hear me though
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| You young fucks got the game all wrong
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| This is my life man this ain’t no song
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| You ain’t livin’your rhymes out, you live at your mom’s house
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| In that tight-ass room, pullin’the cars out
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| And the mirror pointin’at your reflection, killing yourself
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| You American Pie, stop feeling yourself
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| Nigga, you just a worker, go deal yourself
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| Stop being a server, get a meal yourself
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| Where your heart at, all that yick-yack, ain’t nobody scared of your gats
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| We got bigger ones
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| How many niggas done shot at me shivering
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| They were so scared they ain’t hit me once
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| Young Hov 'bout to go to the range
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| 'Bout to work on perfecting my aim |