| This song here.
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| . |
| is dedicated to Danny Dan and may he rest in peace
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| Who at his funeral left us with the words that
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| he did it his way (uh huh uh huh)
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| So I have no other choice but to do it my way
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| Uh huh uh huh
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| Uhh! |
| While niggaz are shootin stupid
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| I’m carefully plottin ways to make it rotten
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| Well planned hits until you’re long forgotten
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| Y’all niggaz that utilize my style don’t hurt me, cause on the low
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| half of these rappin-ass niggaz wanna work for me Now picture me standin on somebody block tryin to rock
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| I drop bombs and niggaz see me with that dough by eight o’clock
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| My feet never touch the concrete, just street sweep awards
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| While you’re starin on my dick nigga, gimme yours!
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| I don’t hassle with capsules cause that’ll make the grass grow
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| and get a project nigga paid up the asshole
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| if I’ma risk a frisk, gettin my wrists wrapped up in steel
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| I’m out here tryin to make a mill', my shit is real for real
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| While others worship guns I worship tons of money
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| tons of fun, laughin at shit that ain’t even funny
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| So I ain’t pressed to make a CD, I took it slow
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| Eighty percent of these niggaz with deals
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| can’t see me with the dough, uhh!
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| Chorus: Jay-Z
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| In my lifetime, I need to see a whole lot of dough
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| I need a whole lot of dough (for real!)
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| In my lifetime, I need to see a whole lot of stash
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| I need a whole lot of cash (stay real!)
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| In my lifetime, I need to see a whole lot of dough
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| I need a whole lot of dough *
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| In my lifetime, I need to see a whole lot of stash
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| I need a whole lot of cash
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| More ice than winter ninety-four
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| I toured the fifty states with a trunk of raw
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| Recrutin, I’m hittin shortiess with consignment, but don’t play me Ohh you gon’pay me, y’all niggaz ain’t crazy!
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| I’m laid back in the five thousand Italian leather seat recliner
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| under some vagina, discussin the finer, things
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| My crib is mean, watchin a hundred inch screen
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| Lettin the shorties slide by once in a while and let em dream
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| They think I’ve mastered the game cause dames scream my name
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| with passion, I tell em stop flashin and start stashin
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| And we’ll all get off the corner, the only heat you’ll feel
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| is from a sauna, lettin bubbles shoot up your ass if you wanna
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| And fuck that weed, it keeps you broke, invest in pounds of herbs and profit if niggaz wanna smoke dope
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| But keep your nuts cause this is a man’s game
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| And we’ll all pop champagne til it’s a damn shame
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| I’m shootin to Vegas gamblin green-o at the casino
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| Schoolin the dice like Vinny Barberino
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| Welcome back, the ninety-four version of the mack
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| As soon as these ladies see me they don’t know how to act
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| Cause like that, nigga, never twist the cap of malt liquor
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| Only pop and droppin Cristal’s down my throat, take a swigga
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| My style, ladies intoxicated by my profile
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| Your rollin with a pro with, money to blow child
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| You need to feel how sweet the skills be to come and slide down Sugar Hill with me The high roller, rolled up on your dice game
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| Unfold a pack of bills, grab my balls then bet it all
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| I never slept, cause sleepin keeps you deep in debt
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| On the block you lucky if you see my silhouette
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| I’m ghost, envied by most
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| So I keep a crew of crazy tenants that’s sling toast, fucker
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| Haha, f’real! |
| Jay-Z lives
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| Ski, Roc-a-Blok Productions, uh-huh, uh-huh
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| Dame Dash. |
| ha-ha
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| Roc-a-fella Records. |
| uh-huh
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| Everybody from Brooklyn
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| Sauce Money, Big Sarge, B Hah
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| DJ Clark Kent, everybody Uptown
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| ?, my V-A click running thick
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| D’Shawn definitly in the house
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| Roughness y’all, this how we do |