| Nextel phones, and twinkie inches of chrome
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| Million dollar homes, and players’ll still moan
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| Got the game mapped out, and Rolexes and platinum necklace
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| Benz and Lexus, represent Houston Texas do you love it
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| The game done changed, it’s stangs we bring
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| Five S. Cardige ring, connected with gangs
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| Real range on death defying leapords, niggas ain’t soft
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| Rougher than raw, shop on the Internet fuck the mall
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| 9−9 L-Dog, top released for sixty G’s
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| Wreck streets, D-Gotti the owner for what you see
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| It’s what it be, it’s under the bomb concedes me
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| Man tone large land, and pool and concrete
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| Running, from Federal agents with surveillance taping
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| Five star rate, seven figga mail we making
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| For granted we taking, but when we smash it’s over
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| Niggas pulling out new Vipers, and stretch Range Rovers
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| Syruped out or sober, I’m intellectually thoed
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| Pimp pens on futon, off in my Gucci robe
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| And all praises to my Pa with his high, cause ballers designed
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| To hop off in my shoes, cause I’m thoed and on fire on my
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| On roam, connected with cell phones |
| Million dollar homes, parvay with marble stones
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| Caddy Fleet wood bromes, platinum Rolex with ice
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| Foreigns off the lot, without checking the price
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| To be precise boppers want when they hear, the Jag horn
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| Creased up in Ralph Lauren, or dobbed out in Phat Farm
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| Princess cut Clover charm, got my rocks on glare
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| So extroadinare, it make you stop and stare
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| Don’t dare to compare, your knots to big shots
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| That cruise on big yachts, protected like Ft. |
| Knox
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| V-12 dubbed out, 20 inches I pulled out
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| Chopping and knocking, these niggas up off the block
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| On dots tops dropped, hogging flossing on chrome
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| Low-Pro's Perellis on my celly, dogging the zone
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| Holding my own playa, on top the Astro-dome
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| Frequencies get cloned, while I’m getting my mail on on my
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| Of course, I’m in convertible Porshe
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| Race horse golf course, front page of the Source
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| Text for intercourse, with the beautiful ladies
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| 600 Mercedes, everything’s all gravy
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| Do you feel me baby, Benz 2 triple 0
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| Steering wheel mo-mo, on twinkie Lorenzos
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| Screens glow, as they fall from the ceiling |
| Say oooh what I’m feeling, when you’re playing with millions
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| Hoes stalk me, from Texas to Milwaukee
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| My minutes’ll cost me, so hit me via walkie-talkie
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| Alast it’s iceless, cause my jewelry’s so priceless
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| One look and you’re hooked, and I’ll leave you sightless
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| Accumulate dividends, with my ball-point pen
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| Vocabulary extraordinary, sometimes hard to comprehend
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| Lenden is what I wear, devinare soft my fair
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| I’m known everywhere, as a seven figga playa on my |