For me, it’s a tactic, pure math
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MCs are broke, hip hop is a vault full of gold coins
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From a new pair of sneakers, to a BMW automatic
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Flow is pure statics for you
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Street messenger message
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Juice is king, the others are not bad
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Even if something is done, everyone is stuck, no one spends
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Scratching cigars, wasting fish money
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I have printed passports and calendars
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You say great is a rapper, good boy did you hear
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He's good, he's not a rapper and he's rotten
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The background of the story is empty, your voices are thin
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You will need a lot of luck, push it to some porch
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The money is moving towards me, the lego transfer is on the account
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I affect your psyche like an Amsterdam mushroom
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I always give a chance, aware that you are in a trance
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I'm organizing a session, in a fucking swing house
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Hiphopium, intelligent
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I can't hear your tail, I'm overbearing for a reason
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Ask your mother, your dad is impotent
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Rhymes are sterile to you
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That's why the best matre, for me, are believed
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Im a legend
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Hiphopium, intelligent
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Im a legend
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Wherever my beamer goes you know that I’m driving
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Dark tone and unhappy friends, cramp on the face
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The wallets are empty, they don't even have a handful
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All the peasants around me, no job is easy
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I wonder what Biggie and Pac would be filming now
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Ready for the holy end, the boiling water puts the poppy
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Do you want me to fuck you when it's light or dark?
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I change cities like a pot, the tank is full of holes
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In the shower only soap, I hate slimy baths
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I hate club dolls, I hate crooked faces
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I'm rolling, I see paparazzi in the rearview mirror
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I always shoot high because I'm going to go upstairs
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One day my guards will come down for me
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And until then, don't come near me if you don't have a business plan
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Because only new money can brighten the day
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In this war I am not 93 'army ready
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Many children carry my FU kru sperm
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Hip hop full of metaphors, full of vitamins
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Every night my fingers rub that vagina
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What is it, jealous caves
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Come let me show you how to make money
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Fuck you money, jealous caves
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Come let me show you how to make money
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Fuck you money
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I throw a freestyle of life, not a rhyme full of imagination
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One day, only my brother's pension will be late
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Your hair is greasy, your fingers are sticky
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Heads are greasy, everyone is late for life |