| This sounds best in the car
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| Vocal calisthenics, let me flex on the bars
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| Ain’t even gotta try to tell everybody bye
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| You could pull up any verse and never dip on the high
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| Why am I still considered the head honcho?
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| Fire flows turn all them designer clothes into red ponchos
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| Paragraphs disperse lead pronto
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| Bring you to your knees slow like Tebow watchin' the Jets-Broncos
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| Look at what my thoughts bring
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| These up and comers like the first day of summer, they my offspring
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| Feels like an undercover boss thing
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| Oh my godly pace forces me to hardly race, I’m New York’s king
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| These words runnin' 'round in my head
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| I slow 'em down and connect 'em underground 'til y’all dead
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| They said if you rap too good, you’ll never make a profit
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| Tell that to these bank tellers when I make deposits
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| Tell that to the flight attendant when the plane departin'
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| And tell your bitch get off my dick like Lorena Bobbitt
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| This ain’t no movie that I play a part in
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| It’s real life and I’m nice in the punch-you-in-the-face department
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| Writin' hand been strong, you gotta break your arm and
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| To try to be in conversations that my name’s involved in
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| I’m best of friends with Eminem, Dr. Dre and all them
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| Gang members, Yelawolf, Paul, Tracy and all them
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| I would play the park bench with a crazy Walkman
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| Listenin' straight, no rewind button
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| Flip the tape, fast forward just to rewind somethin'
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| Fast forward, I’m flippin' tapes, look at me, I’m frontin'
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| They said I’d never make it
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| Rikers Island just knew they’d be makin' bed arrangements
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| One of them bullets just knew they would hit my chest and cave it
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| I’m wanted, better face it
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| I’m Dufresne, I’ve been through a lot of shit, but bet I escaped it
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| I’m from a world full of run-up-in-your-spot robbers
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| No carpentry class kinda ox carvers
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| On the block with a Glock and rock joggers
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| And nobody saw nothin', you got shot for bein' a blogger
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| Look what all these hard bars did for me
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| Nice guys finish last, I gotta disagree
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| This spittin' spree keeps me at the dealership
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| Like I fuck nothin' but virgins, every year I’m in a different V
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| While these rappers got a kick out of mimicry
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| My raps felt like blackbelts in the 6th degree
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| I roundhouse whoever tryna trade rounds
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| With the House and house rounds in any battle, nigga, this is me
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| I get it poppin', it’s the Papi Chulo
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| Pop into this spot, pop bottles then pop out with your mami culo
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| Just fucked a pop star but promised to never let you know
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| I’m tellin' you though, she look like she on Telemundo
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| I don’t care if she faked it all day
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| Right after I nut, I said I came a long way
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| From coppin' new Js in Dr. Jays on Broadway
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| To stylists at the Grammys, watchin' plays on Broadway
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| To the private invite from playwrights, guess I played it right
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| Is y’all Mayweather or Mike, is you gon' take the fight?
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| I’m just tryna get in shape to hit the weigh in like
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| Skip this press conference, less nonsense, nigga say goodnight
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| I took an oath to never let my fans down
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| First rapper to man up’ll be a man down
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| Skinny, chubby, fat, 5'6″ tall
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| Line 'em up, I got a coffin that’s one-size-fits-all
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| This pen is what kept me out the pens, but how you act depends
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| If a life sentence pens for pennin' your end
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| My wrist swings like a pendulum for perfect penmanship
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| Pendejo my empire’s independent again |