| What up, cuzzo? |
| It’s been a minute since we touched base
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| I hope this verse doesn’t find you in a rough place, give me some updates
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| The family ain’t been the same since granny passed
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| So busy tryna handle tasks, life passed, quick as a camera flash
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| Like I ain’t seen you in a year and some change and I’d be lying if I said I
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| wasn’t hearing some things
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| I often track back to better days, backpacks and letter grades
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| And Uncle Timmy’s hatchback was matte black and heather gray
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| You had the fade, the part and the rat tail
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| Way before I rapped well, enough to speak on the plight of the blackmail
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| Who would’ve thought that we would play a part in these packed jails?
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| From crack sells, when we was just paintin' pictures with pastels
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| Action figures and Gargoyle episodes, laying right there on grandmama floor,
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| Lord bless her soul
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| Manifested goals, now the necklace gold
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| But I’d trade it all in a second, bro, for you to come back home
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| Know you’re never on your own, no one wants to be alone
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| Open arms when you come home again
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| Lost in streets, we used to roam
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| It hit a little different when you get grown
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| Everybody waiting on you to get home again
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| We walked a slow place but time’s skatin' on rollerblades
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| These are the thoughts that travel through my mind on my lowest days
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| Where I’m from, niggas toting K’s and throwaways
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| Sell dope or rock, the only jobs that overpay
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| Unless you’re an athlete or flow over trap beats
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| Can’t get a real job 'cause niggas got rap sheets
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| Slept in my backseat, I’d probably be better off if I had went and got a
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| college degree
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| Wish the knowledge was free but see, the problem with me, I get a couple of
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| dollars and go on a lottery spree
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| Obviously, we ain’t have no one to show us the ropes
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| But rappers sold us the game, so we sold us some dope
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| Don’t want to get off our ass, we’d rather hold a remote
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| And watch them flex all they cash while we stay totally broke
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| And now, now, don’t get me wrong, really to each their own
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| But I just miss the days when music used to hit home
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| Know you’re never on your own, no one wants to be alone
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| Open arms when you come home again
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| Lost in streets, we used to roam
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| It hit a little different when you get grown
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| Everybody waiting on you to get home again
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| Aye, y’all niggas wanna see where my uncle keep his gun?
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| Your uncle don’t have no gun
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| Yo, what is that? |
| Yo, is that a.38?
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| That bitch clean
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| I bet it ain’t loaded though |