| Nobody ever said life was gon' be easy
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| But damn.
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| Just a kid, moms died when I was seven
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| Pops died, eleven, what’s up with heaven?
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| It’s hell when you’re an orphan at a early age
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| This impressionable stage, no love breeds rage
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| In the heart of a child who never knew his roots
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| Looked up to pimps and to hustlers in the eel-skin boots
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| Parkin Caddies on the sidewalk, gangsta talk
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| Truckin diamonds and gold
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| Rubberbands around the bankrolls
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| Fly girls to make your head spin
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| Seemed they partied all night long
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| I was like, «Put me on»
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| But they said, «Little fellow, run and go play
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| Take your butt to school or else you’ll have to be like us one day»
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| I didn’t understand, but I tried to get a job
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| While all the players got the girls cause they’d hustle and rob
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| I was like makin 'bout 1−50 a week
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| And after taxes, you know what that is — lunch meat
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| And I know I can be better than this
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| I gotta get me a car, man
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| I gotta get a girl
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| I know I can do it out there, man
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| I’m gonna go for it, man
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| I gotta get some money
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| Word
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| Streets of anger, trouble and crime
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| I had it hard, had to sleep in my car sometime
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| But I never let another player see me down
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| I kept my front up, my gear clean
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| Even when checkin minor green
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| Brothers knew my game was true
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| So I hooked up with the real crew
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| That knew excactly what to do
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| Bank jobs and jewels, quick to flex with tools
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| Pimpin hoes on the block
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| Checkin cash non-stop
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| Crack spots, armor with interior bars
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| No lie, I used to own 'bout 15 cars
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| Every piece Fila made
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| Drape my women in suede
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| Pavet Piaget, Cesar’s Palace holidays
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| It was on, crazy out of control
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| We made up the word 'ballin', that was how we rolled
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| But the FBI had a-whole-nother idea
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| It’s called multiple indictments for hundreds of years
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| What
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| Daff is dead?
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| Carter got 25 years?
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| Nah.
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| Spike 35 to life?
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| Nah, don’t tell me B.O.'s dead, man
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| I don’t wanna hear that, man
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| I was just with him
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| The game is vicious, no retirement, you die young
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| Listen to a fake, he might tell you to grab a gun
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| I get phone calls from condemned row
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| Brothers I ran with, brothers I really know
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| They tell me, «Ice you got much love in the pen
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| You’re the one that got away, don’t wanna see you in»
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| They tell me, «Tell the little homies the deal
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| Don’t let em come up in this hellish habitat of shanks and steel»
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| I marched two million strong in D. C
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| Lookin eye to eye with brothers that I used to think below me
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| Damn, my mind was twisted in my hustlin days
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| But God spared me, I got a baby son to raise
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| And bein black ain’t easy, prejudice is real
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| But health and liberty is all we need for us to build
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| We gotta come together, unseparated
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| Check yourself like I did, blackman, because we’re all related |