| Oh, no, man, I feel weird
|
| I’m trying to get the motherfucking fuck out of here
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| Before there’s flowers here and sour tears
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| I’m looking forward to knowing how power feels
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| Powerful, power is knowledge
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| They sum up my life with my four years of college
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| I know first-hand words is money
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| I learned they coded language, observed these dummies
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| Feel bummy and crummy with no food up in your tummy
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| So I’m like funny how while I teach you sonnies something
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| Apparently, if your parents be the sons of important parents, it’s a parody
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| It’s a cake walk, it’s collusion
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| It’s a lot of big words, it’s confusin'
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| It’s hard to go to college when they profit off of jailing
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| Give a fuck about rent if you can’t make bail
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| The coded language, they call that law
|
| Himanshu in the corner with the Bobby Brown jaw
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| They said «Bobby Brown fault»
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| Who knows what Bobby Brown saw?
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| Bobby Brown Jindal never lobby brown cause
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| I’m like Lucky Luciano
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| But more pronto with bravado
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| While I’m chilling, sipping bottles
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| And ignoring all these models
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| Keep that Gombi like Movado
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| Then I look at my Movado
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| Hop in whip and then hit bottles
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| See my shorty, then I cuddle
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| I don’t care if you think I’m cool
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| Have the shoot with the pool
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| I challenge fools and dudes
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| And damage 'em, rude and cruel
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| A savage and stupid dude
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| Who managed to cram in school
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| A scavenger with no tool
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| Who’ll handle and ravage you
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| Himanshu, how you rap about stacks and base now?
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| Miss when you rapped on tracks 'bout John Basedow
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| Now I’m spaced for days until my face pound
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| I’m wild and dying, lying with my face down |