| Too many rappers talking about they riches
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| But what about my niggas living in the trenches
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| I represent them men and women living in them ditches
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| We on a different mission, listen
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| I’m a Top Ramen Nigga Nigga N-Nigga Nigga, N-Nigga Nigga (ey-ah-ey)
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| Top Ramen Nigga Nigga N-Nigga Nigga, N-Nigga Nigga (ey-ah-ey)
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| Top Ramen Nigga (ey-ah-ey) Nigga (ey-ah-ey) (x2)
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| Top Ramen Nigga
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| My words are stray bullets, they hittin' close to home
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| My father came from a broken Trojan and broke
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| I came from a broken home
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| That’s why I’m broke and home-less
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| That’s why I broke into your home, shit
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| And stole shit, hopin' that God forgive us
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| Robbin' niggas for water cause I’m a Top Ramen Nigga
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| I don’t give a fuck if he got kids, I’m still finna rob this nigga
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| That’s me arguing with my conscience nigga
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| I got no time to give a fuck
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| Stick em up, yeah you thought it was only one Crooked
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| No utilities made each one of mama’s son’s crooked
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| Putting Top Ramen on the window sill and lettin' the sun cook it
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| That’s the shit that make a nigga become crooked
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| Asking God, «Why me, what did I do?»
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| Then I thought I heard God speak
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| Said «People die in the street every other week, so why not you?»
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| So I gotta do what I gotta do before I die too
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| I don’t think the world knows how badly I’ve needed a bucks
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| Or how often I’ve thought about jackin' a Brinks truck
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| And though poverty blows, not having a thing sucks
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| You might need some blow, not having your thing sucked
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| I’m talking about coke, not having a drink but
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| Pushing white work, green plus some of that green puff
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| Live a life without cash, you may be nuts
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| I’ll address the elephant, no one wanna work for peanuts
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| I know all about trynna get your flirt on
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| Talking to the fly chick, with the tight skirt on
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| She hop in her fly whip, then she got her skirt on
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| Though you saying the right shit, you got the wrong shirt on
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| Standing there like I wonder why she ain’t feelin' me
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| I toothbrushed my kicks to the best of my ability
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| It really seems almost as if life’s played you
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| Your only check’s the one reality gave you
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| When I was young, I never knew who the fuck my pops was
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| Only thing I knew, is where them cops was
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| On the lookout, cuz you know a nigga got drugs
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| Crack rocks in them stash spots, I know where that rock was
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| I learned I must stash crack before my mustache cracked
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| I saw bloodbaths, you’re listening to a thug’s flashbacks
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| Talkin' over bugs slash cats
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| Yeah we talking about pounds and codes, I got them fuckin' hashtags
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| Smugglin' coke, becoming a dope dealer
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| When your stomach is rumblin', what’s to become of a broke nigga
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| If you a dealer, then this might hit home
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| You get high off what I pitch, like a high pitched tone
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| Countin' dirty money, nigga call it paydirt
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| Got a cold style, call me chili flavor
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| Top Ramen Nigga, now I’m gettin' paper
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| Could have been a doctor, now I’m just a gangster
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| I scream fuck the world before I was old enough to get fuckin' erect
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| Clutchin' my set of balls fuckin' upset
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| Just a nukka coming up on them monthly government checks
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| But sometimes I wonder how often the government checks
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| The fuckin' effects of poverty growin' up in them 'jects
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| It’s rough when you stepped outside, might get a slug in the head
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| Comin' to check the mail is like playin' Russian Roulette
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| Niggas struggle so they hustle, fuck you expect
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| I never sold dope, I had too much fuckin' respect for them youngin’s
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| Who suffer from hunger because their mother is strung out on drugs
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| She’s fuckin' and suckin' just to cover her debt
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| But still these cops wanna put me under arrest
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| Yo the hood’s pipin' hot, we under direct
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| Sunlight, some might, say that we under the rest/ duress
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| Don’t like my hand I was dealt, but I trust the one who shuffled the deck
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| As long as I got air in the lungs in my chest
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| I’ll be a…
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| Shit just got real |