| Two years, waits up, still sleep, wake-up
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| Girl gone, break-up, mind right, cake up
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| Friends came, friends left
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| Bullshit is endless, been next
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| Hip-Hop, really not impressed
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| Maybe just my love died
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| Sober, still above high
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| Slugs fly, eyes sucked dry, still a thug cries
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| I cried 'till I can’t cry no more
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| Believe my own nonsense, I can’t lie no more
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| Soul dead, breathless; |
| I can’t sigh no more
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| Wheels already fell off, I can’t ride no more
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| I guess I pack up all of my belongings and just troop it
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| You know it’s beef when a smart nigga gets stupid
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| Cause then it’s justified, rationale nullified
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| Steven shot 8 times, almost thought my brother died
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| See he was raised different, I know his mother tried
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| His arms tied, I’m trying to teach dude to touch the sky
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| But still shorty wild, turned on by 40 Cals
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| Was young, never saw me wild, clutch Robert Horry style
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| No wonder I picked-up triggers to beef
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| I only ever fist fought wit niggas bigger than me
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| I never been the one to try and grab shit in my reach
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| Incompliant, you have now witnessed the breach
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| I feel like life is all written, understand my math
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| Got on my knees, told God I had a plan, He laughed
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| I mean… hours passed, no sleep, cowards get a slow leak
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| Showered twice the whole week, powerless control freak
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| Thinkin' about suicide, won’t though I’m scrutinized
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| Life nigga; |
| do or die, hood want 'em crucified
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| Jewelry on, fresh dressed, model broads excess
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| Phone calls, death threats, tell me what’s the next step
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| What’s what, who’s who, paranoid as usual
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| Grippin' on my deuce-deuce, either way a lose-lose
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| All I need is one mic, razor blades, gun fights
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| Room without no sunlight, understand son’s plight
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| If done right, won’t seek and fail
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| I don’t follow the path, I’m creatin' my own to leave a trail
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| It’s no rhyme or reason nor reason or rhyme
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| No more food for thought, shit deceasin' the mind
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| Now they doubtin' my desire, second guessin' my fashion
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| Like bringin' of weapons of mass in when you question my passion
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| I live for this, not the Baguettes and the fame
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| Got signed havin' an answer, then the question changed
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| Sayin' Jump Off don’t sound right is blasphemous downright
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| I astound mics, music is just what feelings sound like
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| So even though when I do it it’s flames
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| For a while felt like I was makin' music in vain
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| We don’t do it same, I use it for change
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| Y’all do it for change, I use it for pain
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| But keep doin' ya thang' Soundscan skyrocket
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| Build all this hype 'bout it, prayin' people might cop it
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| This is just my logic, maybe it’s psychotic
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| Though labels try to stop it this is my antibiotic
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| So lemme' start doin' what dudes like
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| A nigga in the booth feelin' fresher than some new Nikes
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| Dawg, and I cruise like cruise control
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| Fuck that! |
| I can’t do it, I might lose my soul
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| Even though it should help a nigga to his goal
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| Would defeat the whole purpose
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| Naw, that ain’t what Jers is
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| Naw, that would be worthless
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| Bars soundin' nervous
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| A nigga much deeper than what you see on the surface
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| I’d rather resort back to snatchin' purses
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| Finally understanding what the gift and the curse is
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| If I was more concerned about a purchase
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| I would tell y’all it’s about to go down like bird shit
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| It takes courage, me versus urges
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| A wordsmith that got caught-up in label merges
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| And what’s worse is, I been deserted in the circus
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| Up-and-left the circuit, it’s dead like hearses
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| Sicker than them pedophiles workin' in them churches
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| That ain’t the type shit I deem fit for my verses
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| Dawg, so lemme' help niggas understand Mouse
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| Dawg, why try to fit in when you a stand-out?
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| It’s no album, but the money never ran out
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| Aside from rap, I’m kinda' focused on land now. |
| (You know?)
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| Cause I don’t know whurr' the game is
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| I know we jus' been attacked by a Hurricane Chris
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| Some niggas can’t fathom what money and fame is
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| Or some niggas get it by usin' they stainless
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| Or some niggas get it, but they can’t sustain it
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| Me? |
| I’m regular Joe, I don’t let it change shit |