| The story of a young girl, praying for those who chose her to notice
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| This golden child entitled the holy grail drinker
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| For sure a soldier trooper
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| Maneuver through your crew and noticed only overseas and quoted like a?
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| maneuver
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| Picture different, my vision position to capture moments
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| And living it only dreaming children are pretty to know
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| And Jean holding zero? |
| dinero is the current state
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| I’m exposing the lack of folding? |
| limos? |
| empty plates
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| It’s all fucked up, writing across the wall, sucker
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| My thoughts are trapped in ink and imagining them being wrapped in mink
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| But life is routed on roads with broken glass and potholes and shit
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| I’m running barefoot on the same street you drive your Rolls in
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| Luxury gangsta whips and cliques and women
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| Liquor-driven strippers chilling in your coke-infested place of living
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| I got a stoag and a match, a dream of toking some tracks
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| ? |
| cash, so why should niggas listen?
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| I throwback like Kodak clips
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| That means I go back to old hits and re-take prints with new spit
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| Then throw that to yo?
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| You know that trick, whoa
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| With that ho? |
| I mean that shit, yo
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| Suppose you only used to chicks who use they tits to boost sales
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| And boot males who switch the crew they with but really fails
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| Cause rap fans are finicky, your approach is gimmicky
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| So your turn’s over fast, like a young man’s virginity
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| Ms. Grae, the unknown vet, destined to stardom
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| Reaching higher up than Harlem is to L.E.S. |
| Puerto Ricans
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| You’re blowing smoke and shooting dope and speaking nothing
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| Niggas is tripping, video bitches are making a killing
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| Little girls thinking they’re grown women in bra tops
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| But will it matter soon when the bomb drops, it all stops
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| We’re thinking ghetto warfare, you should be thinking bigger
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| Money, bitches, and houses, they’re still calling you a nigga
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| This is the mind of a visionary
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| Imprisoned in matrimony with rapping in shackled?
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| Black like ya homie selling crack in the back of an alley
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| You know me in fact, I’m the shadow behind you creeping slowly
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| Smoking dro, analyzing ambition
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| While I’m fantasizing, planning trips of tanning on islands with?
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| Up and down? |
| magazine
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| Poster child for? |
| scholars,? |
| kerosene find me
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| Maybe finally in colleges with adolescent scholars
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| PlayStations for twenty kids making a hundred dollars
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| Maybe chilling in Hollis with? |
| wallets open
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| Splitting change for dutches for rolling, munchies for after smoking
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| The intro, for y’all who ain’t know
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| The first is J-E-N
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| The second’s G-R, then the letter of every first plan
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| Next, the last to the end of this verse, I’m hoping your spelling it works
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| Cause it’s the end of the verse |