| Ladies and gentlemen
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| I go by the name of Jae Millz
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| Justin Case, Marlyn New York City
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| That’s it
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| It’s really here
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| I’m a father who’s child in this world livin'
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| Just chillin', spittin'
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| This verse from my iPhone just ringin'
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| My lyrics get mo' po' in the oda I’m getting
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| Young niggas like, what can I give 'em? |
| Like wisdom
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| Oh, not to mention some dope ass music you can play when you’re getting dressed
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| Man, it’s like I make theme music for getting fresh
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| Smoke medicated every day, fuck a cigarette
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| You would think I was Mike’s son, I got all the Jords
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| Sneaker boxes galore, my closet have a storage waz
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| Somebody feel they in need, they could come record
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| I look the new world’s mirror and asked who was the doppest you ever saw in the
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| city
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| I’m a father who’s child in this world livin'
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| Still chillin', still tryna remain sucker free and get this chicken
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| My new Sedan hard like MOP halls
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| And it’s still MOP, yea, money over pigeons
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| Ain’t no all on my marble floors, baby I ain’t slippin'
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| I enticin' in yo game showin' Givens
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| But my birthday in this year, in Houston I was double cup
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| Throbe on, that’s disrespectful to pimpin' if I wasn’t sippin'
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| That’s just G shit, fuck a rap song
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| Ask Bun if you think I’m just puttin' words in rap form
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| My sline ain’t gave me a chance in the platform
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| Now my town hype cause a fool is what I act for
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| Yea, Yankee feel it, low cuts
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| Spend mo' money on my belt than the jeans they holdin' up
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| Like my ex down in the dust, I don’t care how she holdin' up
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| Humor from a beamered up bus so who’s the real asshole? |