| One time for B.I.G
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| Wave a finger front to back
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| I ain’t gotta tell you where i’m from, you see it on my cap
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| 501's on my leg
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| Polo men on my tee
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| Jordan aint no kiddin me
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| But I keep 'em on my feet
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| I like a big ghetto booty on a P.Y.T
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| With a 5th Ave S.W.A.G
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| Something just like me
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| Buy and sell Gucci
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| I like them girls in Louis V
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| Red bottoms Lue B’s
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| Two fingers to the G’s
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| What it is, what it be
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| If you ballin' rasie ya bottom and yell «FREE TUNECHI»
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| Free, Free Tunechi
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| Till they free Tunechi
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| I’m Q-Vision in the club
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| Watch me make a movieI like girls in Louis V
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| Chorus
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| I got money
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| Money no problem
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| Love doing math
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| So it’s money I’m solving
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| Never ever stopping
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| But these niggers better copping
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| So I’m ugly with the money
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| Ugly ugly Green goblin
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| F**k them other haters cause I’m down for my n****s
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| I got money in my pockets so there’s no room for your digits
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| I be in and outta state, err’day a different place
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| And I be hittin' home runs while you still on second base
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| You boy be poppin' them bottles of Rozay,
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| F**kin' models in every single damn way
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| No offense to ugly women but I need a pretty face
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| If you skinny or eat plenty it don’t matter either way
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| Cause I’am get it, hit it, quit it then I pass you off to Jae… Millz
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| Speed racer on the track call me Hot Wheels
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| Them bullets long like fries, get a Happy Meal
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| Black Card, Red Chucks, Batman & Robin
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| Spider-man eatin' up the money, Green Goblin
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| Chorus
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| Till I die I’m uptown and dead prezzys what I’m countin' in
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| Cut milli-mountsins, n***a what you know about 'em
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| So Harlem 'till I go
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| F**k a stylist, I be stylin'
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| Comin' down 125th, paper plated drop wildin'
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| He sreamin' till it’s easy, love me or leave me
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| For New York Free Remy and for YM Free Weezy
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| Me and C. Breezy, Chubby Chuck TZ’s
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| We on that cherry carpet while you watchin' us on TV
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| Trust me I’m mountain clean, if the boy in my regime
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| On stage I’m poison, Hot Tub Time Machine
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| Yeah, Yeah
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| The all doubtin' but they favorite slouchin'
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| And all I got for these n****s is flames, douse 'em
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| Who want test me, get off the express way
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| This is not an Esther, n****s it’s an XJ
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| Swag freakin' American, tatted like an,
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| Take your ass directly to the morgue is what my chest say
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| Yes Jay, yes Jay, stunt like Harlem taught you
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| My diamonds stupid bright, Violet Ultra
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| They all counted me out
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| They thought Millz was over
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| But look who’s talkin' now mother f**k as, John Travolta
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| Chorus
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| Thanks to feel |