| It’s stuck between platinum and flop, underground and mainstream
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| Concious, backpack, scratch that, same thing OH
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| I’m somewhere between the real and the fakeness
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| The red pill, blue pill, real and the Matrix
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| And I can’t take this; |
| if the game needs a new look
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| I’m between a tummy tuck and a face lift
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| And everything I say in these pages
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| Is straight from the heart, nah magazines, y’all can’t rate this
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| But I’ll be debatin it, it’s a bit outragous
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| Like it’s an air virus and this shit’s contagious NIGGA
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| I’m downloadin like niggaz actually play this
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| Maybe I’m buggin out, maybe I’m on a spaceship OHHH
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| See I was on my stay out chill shit
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| The way Mouse kills shit, I’m here just to lay out real shit
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| Besides, other dudes styles remind me of spinnin rims WHY?
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| That shit got played out real quick KILL 'EM
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| See some wrote him off, some said he was done
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| Made a joke of, hope he enjoyed the run
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| I don’t enjoy bein shunned, so I’m back as Neo
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| Fans enjoyed The One, annoint me as begun
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| I had the whole hood thinkin he would never eat
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| Rappers tried to diss, thinkin we would never meet NAH
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| I heard it if you said it
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| You wrote it on online then I read it, now I match it nigga bet it
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| Cause I remember clearly
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| Once «Pump It Up"stop soarin, there’s a few motherfuckers stopped callin
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| See I remember shit spread like cancer
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| I would call folks said, folk ain’t answer
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| A few chicks runnin started pullin they pants up
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| A few stopped actin like my private dancer OOOH
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| But a lightbulb hit once they started to neglect me
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| See there I was, thinkin I was all that sexy but I
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| Nah fuck that
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| Cause I’m still sexy, young and fly
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| Knahmean, ya heard?
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| Look here can’t be finished, what nigga I beg ya pard'
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| I just let niggaz get a head start YEAH
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| I walk to the finish, y’all spread out chase
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| Nah sprint out pace, and I’ll still win the race YEP
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| See I’m joggin
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| Other niggaz legs starts wobblin, when opportunity is start knockin
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| You got the crown, pass off like Stockton
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| It’s time to work, I’m offically clocked in
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| He is a problem, weavin and bobbin'
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| Through the speculation that his label tried to drop him NAH
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| I can’t leave, even though it’s big options
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| Kev only signed me, to keep this shit rockin'
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| Don’t ask me how I’m doin, I been better
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| Stuck in cold Feburary, with a thin sweater
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| I’m far from a «YES"man, I’m a trend setter
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| It’s no games, just a Def Jam Vendetta
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| Don’t put niggaz in the same sink as me
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| I mean metaphors, storylines, deep shit, club shit, girl shit, world shit
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| They don’t use to ink like me
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| Niggaz don’t even think like me NAH
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| Who sees what I’m watchin, he ain’t poppin'
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| Don’t deserve to drink water from the tub that I washed in
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| WAIT, start again, it’s a privilege to breath the same air that I farted in
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| They want no parts with him
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| How dare niggaz categorize me
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| If my name’s on a mixtape, then capitalize me
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| I been stopped goin' to Mixtape Awards
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| Don’t need them to tell me, the mixtapes is yours NAH
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| I had other ideas, while hittin loot
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| I’m thinkin red carpet, I went and copped a suit WHOOH
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| See I’m thinking Grammy’s
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| Sunglasses on, with my On Top family and a bad bitch handy OOHH
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| He stayed at the «W», it felt like heaven
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| I’m at an actress’s house, that felt like neckin'
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| R&B on, looked and felt like Meagan
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| Gave me headache too, I felt like an Excedrin
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| Talk very fly
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| Least until I bought every pie, me me being war ready to my eyes
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| And these dudes might as well be Jamie Foxx
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| Trying to sound like somebody that already died
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| The kid keep a snub wit 'em, good pair of gloves wit 'em
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| Your first week ain’t right, they can’t fuck wit 'em
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| Now if you don’t sell 5 mill, they had enough of 'em
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| Let me find out Hip Hop’s turnin' Republican
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| I’ll sum it up to what he is about
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| Still new to most, they still feelin him out
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| Things were type blam, Joey seasoned him out
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| I’m the nicest dude out since «Reasonable Doubt,"say it ain’t so
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| Rest in Peace Luther, there’s some other niggaz gay on the low OH
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| So live, who can see 'em, no guy
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| I’m the Mets, was suppose to be ill in '05 WHOA
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| As ill as the flow gets, need a piller don’t snitch |
| So if you can’t tell, I’m preparing for '06
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| About to OD, anybody that know me
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| Can tell you I’m bout to make shit feel like it’s '03
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| More like '99
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| No names should be mentioned but mine, unless you talkin' Big Pun in his prime
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| Maybe '96 Jay, before Dame was throwin' money around
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| Or 2pac without Humpty around
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| Or 50 before Em, Nas talkin' like a gun in his song
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| Cam’ron during «Children Of The Corn»
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| Beans before the cops came through and try to grill 'em
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| I’m talkin '95, Big L before they killed 'em
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| Em before 8 Mile, Shyne before the deal shit
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| Canibus, no album out before the L shit
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| Talkin' bout Kiss, DMX when he was fuckin' wit coke
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| Or «Cuban Linx,"Raekwon and Ghost
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| I do it all, who blendin' so well in the game
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| Talkin' Fab, back when he was still spellin' his name MANG
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| On my Diddy shit, Memphis, Grizzlie shit
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| Like back in the day when Clue swiped all of Biggie’s shit NIGGA
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| Rappers don’t need trouble with I
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| Unless it’s Rass Kass before the D.W.I
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| Or Talib with Mos, Common before «Be»
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| If they any less common, don’t put 'em before me
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| See, I’m not a rapper, I’m a prophet
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| Chill Joe stop it, skill will speak for you, don’t pop shit
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| Fuck jail, I’m on my payroll cop shit
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| I call that bootleg cable, it’s no box shit
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| All black, lookin' grimey in the crowd
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| Heat on him, no sir, don’t try me when I’m out
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| I toast somethin' tiny that’ll blauh
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| Ain’t gotta see Paul Wall, if you want somethin' shiney in your mouth
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| I probably fool cats, cause I don’t ride out in some big car
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| In the streets, like I ain’t some big star
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| And these young mother fuckers, is about to fuck up
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| Like leavin' they whole career in some bitch car
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| No name, but it’s no sublime
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| Nigga you know who you are, I’ll end it before it goes too far
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| Your buzz still fucked, you a liar money
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| Joe’s still spendin «Pump It Up», «Fire"money
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| Glock for hire money, don’t try to mug me
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| Call ass cap, maybe be at mines for money
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| Please, what’s wrong wit 'em, somethin' ain’t the norm' wit 'em
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| Ain’t too many dudes out there, out performin 'em NAH
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| Some require these skills, I was born wit 'em
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| Street’s askin' what’s takin' so long wit 'em
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| Jump Off, I’m the best to happen
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| He’s the answer, the who’s got the next in rappin'
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| I suggest you ask 'em
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| If Hip Hop is all smoke and mirrors, then I’m the Windex and a napkin
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| New dudes is whack, some vet’s is has-been's
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| Some were Top 20, till I crept right passed 'em
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| It’s a wrap, Joey sealin' it nigga
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| Cold out, Long Johns still dealin' it nigga
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| Still peelin' it nigga
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| If I only get 'em two times, just know it was the dilinger nigga
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| It’s that 'gnac music, don’t know how to act music
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| Gettin' my Kanye on, puttin' out «Crack Music»
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| Car jack music, got what they lack music
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| Send my little man, get rid of the pack music
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| That I’m back music, that click clack music
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| That A-Team, Muggs, that Fab and Stack music
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| Now who said they fuckin' with me
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| They just said that fuckin' with me, they didn’t mean it (NAH) |