| Work wit me
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| I wanna thank y’all fa comin out
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| Tonight
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| Dis iz sum reel' shit
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| Ah--hah
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| First things first
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| When a nigga money ain’t right
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| That makes things worst
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| Now he’s just breathing he can barely manage
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| And he’s way past starvin
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| He’s really famished
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| His right-hand man is up north, that’s hurtin em
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| His cellphone bout to cut off, Sprint jerkin em
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| And his baby moms startin to do her thing again
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| She left him for a nigga pumpin e up in Binghamton
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| If his money is right than maybe he can diss her
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| But he can’t, and niggas is breakin his little sister
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| His pops just passed
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| His mom use to be an occasional sniffer
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| Then she started fuckin with the gas
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| Dude use to be a star back then
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| He had the Benz CL something
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| But he just turned his car back in
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| Mad carets pawned all his rings
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| Took this thing next thing I know
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| Money pawned all his bling
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| Now he just like everybody
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| With the same old plans
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| That can’t get over the hump
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| With the same old grams
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| They was on the block making fun of him
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| He slid off came back with his hammer and killed everyone of em
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| Cause when I come through clear it out
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| Play the sideline and observe how a real nigga air it out
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| When I come through clear it out
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| Play the sideline and observe how a real nigga air it out
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| When I come through clear it out
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| Play the sideline and observe how a real nigga air it out
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| When I come through clear it out
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| Play the sideline and observe
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| On D I go man to man
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| I know niggas with an asshole
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| Full of parole that go hand in hand
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| Fuck hot thats humidity
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| And you can’t mix money with stupidity
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| Even though I get my coke from Colombia
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| My cars from Germany
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| And my guns from Sicily
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| Nothin personal but I was raised different
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| Hold my joint sideways so I blaze different
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| Give it to anybody fuck an age difference
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| From those in the world to those in the cage riffing
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| Rub the kite on your chest and swallow the stamp
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| At the end of the day they still gonna follow the champ
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| It ain’t about being lyrical
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| Cause when I get in the booth
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| I make miracles and I ain’t stared at you
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| But I’m in tune with the hood so I’m better than you
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| And when you see me comin you know what is better to do
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| Can’t lie all I got is my balls and my vocals
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| And the only security I roll wit is my social
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| It don’t look decent
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| It’s like niggas left they crew in the hood
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| And went on the road with the precinct
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| Had it up to here with this fake shit
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| They don’t even want a nigga to earn his
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| Just give and take shit
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| Just make sure you mention my name in da top brackets
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| And make sure you mention your name as the top faggot
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| Trust me this go around I will not have it
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| I putting niggas heads to bed like Craftmatics
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| How you think your man died
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| More money than respect
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| And it wasn’t close it was by a landslide
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| Listen my nigga your work is sloppy
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| And I don’t love them hoes but the purple got me
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| If I don’t don’t do it with music I’mma do it wit poppy
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| Just play the sideline and observe and watch me
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| Let’s go |