| 1985, I arrived
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| 33 years, damn, I’m grateful I survived
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| We wasn’t s’posed to get past 25
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| Joke’s on you motherfucker, we alive
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| All these niggas popping now is young
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| Everybody say the music that they make is dumb
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| I remember I was 18
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| Money, pussy, parties, I was on the same thing
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| You gotta give a boy a chance to grow some
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| Everybody talkin' like they know somethin' these days
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| Niggas actin' woke, but they broke, umm
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| I respect the struggle but you all frontin' these days
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| Man, they barely old enough to drive
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| To tell them what they should do, who the fuck am I?
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| I heard one of 'em dissed me, I’m surprised
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| I ain’t trippin', listen good to my reply
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| Come here lil' man, let me talk with ya
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| See if I can paint for you the large picture
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| Congrats 'cause you made it out your mama house
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| I hope you make enough to buy your mom a house
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| I see your watch icy and your whip foreign
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| I got some good advice, never quit tourin'
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| 'Cause that’s the way we eat here in this rap game
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| I’m fuckin' with your funky lil' rap name
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| I hear your music and I know that rap’s changed
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| A bunch of folks would say that that’s a bad thing
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| 'Cause everything’s commercial and it’s pop now
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| Trap drums is the shit that’s hot now
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| See, I’ve been on a quest for the next wave
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| But never mind, that was just a segue
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| I must say, by your songs I’m unimpressed, hey
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| But I love to see a Black man get paid
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| And plus, you havin' fun and I respect that
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| But have you ever thought about your impact?
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| These white kids love that you don’t give a fuck
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| 'Cause that’s exactly what’s expected when your skin black
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| They wanna see you dab, they wanna see you pop a pill
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| They wanna see you tatted from your face to your heels
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| And somewhere deep down, fuck it, I gotta keep it real
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| They wanna be black and think your song is how it feels
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| So when you turn up, you see them turnin' up too
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| You hit the next city, collect your money when it’s due
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| You gettin' that paper, swimmin' in bitches, I don’t blame you
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| You ain’t thinkin' 'bout the people that’s lookin' like me and you
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| True, you got better shit to do
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| You coulda bought a crib with all that bread that you done blew
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| I know you think this type of revenue is never endin'
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| But I wanna take a minute just to tell you that ain’t true
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| One day, them kids that’s listening gon' grow up
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| And get too old for that shit that made you blow up
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| Now your show’s lookin' light cause they don’t show up
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| Which unfortunately means the money slow up
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| Now you scramblin' and hopin' to get hot again
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| But you forgot you only popped 'cause you was ridin' trends
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| Now you old news and you goin' through regrets
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| 'Cause you never bought that house, but you got a Benz
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| And a bunch of jewels and a bunch of shoes
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| And a bunch of fake friends, I ain’t judgin' you
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| I’m just tellin' you what’s probably gon' happen when you rappin'
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| 'Bout the type of shit you rappin' 'bout
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| It’s a faster route to the bottom
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| I wish you good luck
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| I’m hoping for your sake that you ain’t dumb as you look
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| But if it’s really true what people sayin'
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| And you call yourself playin' with my name
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| Then I really know you fucked, trust
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| I’ll be around forever 'cause my skills is tip-top
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| To any amateur niggas that wanna get rocked
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| Just remember what I told you when your shit flop
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| In five years you gon' be on Love & Hip-Hop, nigga |