| From the block to the top
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| Budha baggies in a sock
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| Only thing that changed now
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| Is we ain’t runnin' out of stock
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| Use to beg mom dukes for lunch money
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| Honies used to run from me
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| When pockets was dust bunnies
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| Now what’s funny
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| Is when done came up and conquered
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| Even the future lookin' bonkers from Compton to Yonkers
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| Though them gangstas grill
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| I tell 'em keep that drama away
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| Don’t fuck with thieves
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| I like Jay so who sponsorin' the tape
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| They launchin' out straights
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| I’m tryin' not to get sprayed
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| Whether it’s spitter or a quiter behind the trigger
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| Approachin' his prey his eyes bigger
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| Won’t stop to consider what’s right or wrong
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| Because it’s hard liquor that’s inside his liver
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| But that’s just daily routine
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| The streets is couped fiends
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| Whether the hoops or the booth
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| Niggas shoot dreams
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| Better choose the right scheme
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| Cause you can think you cool with yo nice things
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| Get wiped cleaned for ice cream when the light speed
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| Traded in my Nikes for a new mic
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| I guess it’s safe to say
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| He sold soles for his new life
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| Like they were tryna blind us
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| But we know the true designer
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| They didn’t wanna see us find the diviners
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| So now we hit the vines
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| Up day and night on the regular
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| I know my momma prayin'
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| Like she want me reach my aims in life
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| But just stay in sight
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| So I’m shootin' for my dreams
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| Hit the booth and it boost my esteem
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| The Pro Era crew recruitin'
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| And them fiends by the boat load
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| Nigga caught a wave and now he surfin' coastal
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| They don’t feel the name
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| But they say that music dope though
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| Fuck it that’s how it’s supposed to go
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| These bloggers too emotional
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| They’ll be postin' you
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| Until labels start Interscopin' you
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| By then it’s Wale
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| And I’ll be chillin' where I lay
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| Cause I rather see the top
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| Than to be livin' where I lay |