| Once again I’m back in the place to be
|
| The I, the C, the E, the T
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| I’ll never get a Grammy, so fuck the G
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| All I need is crowd, and my M-I-C
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| Got a gangster ass DJ named Evil E
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| My record label’s called Warner B
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| William Morris is my agency
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| I’ll never go broke, I got property
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| Got a dope pitbull named Felony
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| Got four gold albums
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| So what you tell’n me?
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| Power was two, Iceberg was three
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| This one here shipped five hundred G
|
| Now when I roll, I roll stupid deep
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| Benzes, Beemers, and boomin' Jeeps
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| I’m always strapped
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| Cause my money I keep
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| You move on the Ice
|
| And you’re goin' to sleep
|
| But when you see me
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| Walkin' down the street
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| You say, «What's up Ice?»
|
| And I say, «Peace!»
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| You give me a dap, I give you one back
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| Cause I ain’t souped
|
| So forget about that
|
| We might take pictures
|
| Sign an autograph
|
| Kick a little flavor
|
| Have some fun and laugh
|
| But step to me wrong
|
| You might get shot
|
| And wind up lookin' out a ziploc |