| The bars show you mad struggle
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| Along with detailed scriptures of my past trouble
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| That’s why they try to keep me quiet with a bad muzzle
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| Can’t take the same leaps and bounds as me
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| When they lack the hustle and the calf muscle
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| Words from a legend speaking from the heart
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| Said, if you going to war, weaponry is a start
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| Do your dirt all by your lonely, let it be in the dark
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| You givin birds bread then let it be in the park, Joey
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| Tip me wrong, mini mall when the semi’s warm
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| Bout my bread, so I spot it if a penny’s gone
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| And I’ll bet, learned that from the nets
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| If you tryna be a Billionaire get rid of any Thorn
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| Cause you’ll get fucked if they shoot you, emptied on
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| It’s just they way of making a mini porn
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| I watch my haters get sick
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| If it’s that hard living in my shadow
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| Get off my silhouette’s dick
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| Tailor made suits, double breast fit
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| Set trip, get your name on the next clip
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| Sometimes before you can add you gotta minus
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| Some of y’all don’t get the math or the science
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| It means I’m aiming for wealth
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| Some say sky’s the limit I say you’re short changing yourself
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| so uh ha, uh ha, y’all aint the same as me, I get bread
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| You lose Jackson’s, Jermaine Dupri
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| BS about Joe, refrain it please
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| You’ll just untame a beast, he just became unleashed
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| All who defend are deceased, so the topic should pass
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| An assembly line would show em I’m not in they class
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| Had some alright jams, them fans came and left
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| And you ain’t know they was one night stands
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| Let em testify, witness’s, hearin is indicative
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| Niggas is sick of it, let it go, and get a grip
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| I think I’m Sug' Ray, Ali
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| Joe Fraiz' who the fuck gon stop me
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| He think he Holyfield, Iron Mike
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| Fo' fifth let em feel what the iron like
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| I think I’m Mayweather, Pacquiao
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| Screamin money ain’t a thing pullin stacks out
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| I think I’m Cotto, Shane Mosley
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| Slow death to anyone who oppose me
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| Sun I’m a always shine, yellow
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| Think I’m about to get up on that? |
| HELL NO
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| Long as shorty keep my tip hard, shell toe
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| Certain I’m a stick to the script, velcro
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| Ringers, fakers, thinker, faders, prosper
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| Without being linked to the majors
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| My only response is the finger to haters
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| Watch it get ugly, Mbenga, Lakers
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| so when they ask how I feel about hip hop
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| I sighed and replied take a lucky guess
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| Just being sincere, I ain’t talking pioneer’s
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| When I tell dudes I don’t think the Dougie’s fresh
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| Used to roll through the trenches, slept on cold benches
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| Holds on my expenses, smoke till I was senseless
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| Now the flow’s so relentless
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| Fuck CD’s it should be sold in syringes
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| I can’t explain it they love the sound
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| Subtle with the pound, you don’t want trouble clown
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| If I’m at the bar ordering a couple rounds
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| I’m in between 2 birds like a double down
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| Where I’m from they cock and shoot
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| Like it’s all logical, send a lot of work to them hospitals
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| Dress the AK up before they pop at you
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| Handgun’s, night scope, call it the Chopper suit
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| So if you tired of all the wack dudes, call me in
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| Rap historian, slash my class’s Valedictorian
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| Your future’s at a stand still
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| Must be a flat on that Delorean
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| I tried tellin them conceded the deals closed
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| They disagree they believe that they real close
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| Tough guys turn talk show like Steve Wilko’s
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| Scream fuck em eat dildos with each pill dose
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| All the rap dudes they got highly regarded
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| Tell me they psyche might be slightly retarded
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| Nowadays before the shows I buy me a cartridge
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| Those them phony ass dudes they like me to start with
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| Peepin how the vets wanna stop me
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| Money where your mouth is Ted DiBiase
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| And he won’t be able to reach for a biscuit
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| With O’s on his head like a B-more fitted
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| Black hoody and black tux
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| Tearin stacks up, with a model and her rack tough
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| Gettin my Extreme Makeover on
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| Knock that bitch down and build her back up
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| Think twice before you act up
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| Around flames, wrong time to be gassed up
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| You never heard blowing smoke from a grass hut
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| 9 times out of 10 it’ll be your last puff |