| Say she never seen a dream sold like this before
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| Or encountered one that’s cold like this before
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| Swore she wouldn’t fall for it, then she seen I’m missin' more
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| And keep askin' me why I’m creatin' all this distance for
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| It’s traditional, church but not a piscopo
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| I make her work for that position, it’s a privilege ho
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| Her first taste of red wine and medicinal
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| And I ain’t mad, she think my belt buckle is mistletoe
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| I ain’t dissin' though, it’s strictly principle
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| Stay poppin' tags homie, I ain’t missin' dough
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| And it’s probably cause I’m gettin' chose
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| And she workin' so hard, I can get another chick fa sho
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| She know I’m hardly home, party with my Carti’s on
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| And get Wolfgang Puck fresh at the drop of a button
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| With no discussion, like it’s nothin'
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| I take it till she realize that she was bluffin'
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| I’m cold on 'em
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| She give me everything
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| Tell me I don’t owe her nothin'
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| They say I’m cold on these hoes
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| David Ruffin
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| It’s James Jones, drug zone
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| Meet your neighbor, hoodlum
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| They say I’m cold on these hoes, I came up from nothin'
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| Slangin' bowls for them pros, every day I’m hustlin'
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| We get the low, get 'em gone, in a day it’s nothin'
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| Got the trap bunkin', my connect Russian/rushing
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| When I double what you cop, now that’s frontin'
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| Niggas frontin' like they live, nigga stop frontin'
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| Cause that shit’ll get you shot, and I’m not bluffin'
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| We’ll run up in your spot, get to bustin' plural
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| Now his block’s a mural, full of Care Bears and Teddy Ruxpins
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| Runnin' from the black and yellows, black and yellows, packin' metal
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| Had to throw my crack and ran go get my thumper
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| Cause the other day they found my nigga in the dumpster
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| Thinkin' 'bout all the dirt we did when we was youngsters
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| Led astray, the hood try’na take me under
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| Streets didn’t kill me, only made me stronger
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| A pimp from the 'go, I give a ho
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| Some pimpin' to go, my ism critical
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| Amnesia pimpin', I hit it then forget a ho
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| Girl I beat that pussy up, call that boy Riddick Bowe
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| Teddy Pendergrass, Love TKO
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| Countin' plenty cash, blowin' kush and plenty hash
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| It’s what we have, playa what you got?
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| That 31 from the Pacers
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| We gettin' paper, let this ism motivate you
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| ? |
| bother them ass shots, trusty in your stash spot
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| Man I just gave her game to change her from a have not
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| Who she gave that paper to the moment that she came out
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| Why she came in here with you and leavin' in my fast car?
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| Fool, she drove on a player call it Nascar
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| Y’all speedballin', fallin' like I’m John ??
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| Cold on these hoes, chuuch, Pope John Paul |