| Verse 1
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| This is it, dope from the fly kid
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| The Ice mic is back with the high bid
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| Suckers you’ve lost cos players you’re not, gangstas you ain’t
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| You’re faintin', punk, if you ever heard a gunshot
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| Yo, the pusher, the player, the pimp gangsta, the hustler
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| High Roller, dead pres folder
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| Is cold lampin' like a black king on a throne
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| Evil E… turn up the microphone
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| So I can I’ll and break on the rollin' tape
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| Another album to make? |
| Great
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| Islam turn the bass kick up a bit
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| Hype the snare, now I got a place to sit
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| And ride the track like a black mack in his 'lac
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| Hit the corner slow where the girls are at And kick game the way it should be done
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| How you gonna drop science? |
| You’re dumb
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| Stupid ignorant, don’t even talk to me At school you dropped Math, Science and History
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| And then you get on the mic and try to act smart
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| Well let me tell you one thing, you got heart
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| To perpetrate, you’re bait, so just wait
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| Till the press shove a mic in your face
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| Or you meet Boogie Down or Chuck D Stetsasonic or the Big Daddy
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| And they ask you about the game you claim you got
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| Drop science now, why not?
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| You start to sweat and fret, it gets hot
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| How’d you get into this spot?
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| You played yourself…
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| Yo, yo, you played yourself…
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| Verse 2
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| I’m no authority but I know the D-E-A-L
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| When it comes to dealin' with the females
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| What you got they want, cash is what they need
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| Slip sucker and they’ll break you with speed
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| But you meet a freak, you try to turn her out
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| Spendin' money’s what I’m talkin' about
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| But you fool out, your pockets got blew out
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| And after the date, no boots, you got threw out
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| Mad and shook cos your duckets got took
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| Call her up, phone’s off the hook
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| But who told you to front and flaunt your grip?
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| You can’t buy no relationship
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| You played yourself…
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| Yo, homeboy, you played yourself…
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| Verse 3
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| I’m in the MC game, a lot of MC’s front
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| And for the money they’re sell out stunts
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| But they claim that they’re rich and that they keep cash
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| Yo, let me straighten this out fast
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| Two hundred thousand records sold
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| And these brothers start yellin' 'bout gold?
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| You better double that, then double that again
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| And still don’t get sooped, my friend
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| You think you’ve made it, you’re just a lucky man
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| Guess who controls your destiny, fans
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| But you diss 'em cos you think you’re a star
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| That attitude is rude, you won’t get far
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| Cos they’ll turn on you quick, you’ll drop like a brick
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| Unemployment’s where you’ll sit
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| No friends cos you dissed 'em too
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| No money, no crew, you’re through
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| You played yourself…
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| That’s right, you played yourself…
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| You played yourself…
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| Yo, yo, you played yourself…
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| Verse 4
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| You got problems, you claim you need a break
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| But every dollar you get you take
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| Straight to the Dopeman, try to get a beam up Your idle time is spent tryna scheme up Another way to get money for a jumbo
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| When you go to sleep you count Five-O's
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| Lyin' and cheatin', everybody you’re beatin'
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| Dirty clothes and you’re skinny cos you haven’t been eatin'
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| You ripped off all your family and your friends
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| Nowhere does your larceny end
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| And then you get an idea for a big move
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| An armed robbery… smooth
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| But everything went wrong, somebody got shot
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| You couldn’t get away, the cops roll, you’re popped
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| And now you’re locked, yo, lampin' on Death Row
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| Society’s fault? |
| No Nobody put the crack into the pipe
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| Nobody made you smoke off your life
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| You thought that you could do dope and still stay cool? |
| Fool.
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| You played yourself…
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| You played yourself…
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| Ain’t nobody else’s fault, you played yourself. |