| See if I gotta lie to kick it
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| I’d just rather not kick it, man
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| Take me for who I am
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| In the words of Dolemite
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| «If you don’t, confidentially I don’t give a damn»
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| See, everybody think they gotta try to portray an image
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| But this how it really go
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| Watch ya boy, here I come, rolling down the avenue
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| Not in a Bentley or a Phantom, just a Malibu
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| Sorry if you met me and you thought I had a slab or two
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| I’m living in the hood, I got one crib and that’ll do
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| Grinding every day but I ain’t sittin' on seven figures
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| I’m not a gangster murderer who shot up twenty niggas
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| I don’t lie about my lifestyle, I do me and I get love
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| And I never made it rain 20 G’s inside a strip club
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| No diamonds on my fingers or my neck cus I don’t sport 'em
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| 1) Because it ain’t my style and 2) I can’t afford 'em
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| If you can, do your thing boy, go hard up in the paint
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| I don’t knock you if that’s you, but I do knock you if it ain’t
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| Yeah I’m still making records, travelling, knocking these shows off
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| And backstage ain’t no groupies dare ripping my clothes off
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| I’m not a powderhead, braggin' bout sniffin' my nose off
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| And I wasn’t sippin' drink, I was just sleeping so I dozed off
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| I’m not balling out of control, I never made it rain
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| My Twitter’s not blowing up, I’m still on the chain
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| I just laugh when these rappers be lyin' bout what they got
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| Cus everything these suckers claim they are I promise you they’re not
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| The spots that I be going to ain’t got no red carpet
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| My car’s right next to yours, the valet didn’t park it
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| My wardrobe is simple, no one cares how much it costed
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| This shirt was $ 9.99 at King’s flea market
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| I’m not in VIP I’m in the main club wit' ya
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| And when I left, no paparazzi was takin' pictures
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| I’m not a mob boss, a kingpin moving weight
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| And I ain’t never ran a car load of bricks across the state
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| I just walked in, pulled out a wad of money and it was on
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| «What you do?» |
| Paid my cable license, phone and went back home
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| Yeah I might fly to a show, hit the stage and rock the livest set
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| But coach seats, no first class, no private jet
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| No worldwide street team, like some of these liars
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| I paid a crackhead $ 10 to pass out my flyers
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| My single ain’t on fire, I barely got a buzz
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| No millions in the bank, but on that note I wish it was
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| Ain’t no lake behind my house where we swim and go fishing
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| I don’t live in the mansion with four or five kitchens
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| The women don’t scream when they see me like Justin Bieber
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| And I never dated a star or supermodel either
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| I don’t do drivebys and I’m not sowing the game up
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| I never made a sex tape to try to blow my name up
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| The flash and that industry hype, I’m not pursuing that
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| And wreckin' all them rappers. |
| hold up, wait… I do be doing that
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| Why you braggin' on the image that you never could prove?
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| I ain’t frontin' like these fools, I’m just a regular dude
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| Ain’t no entourage around me frontin' and actin' hard
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| When I show up at the door it’s just me and the good Lord
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| No million dollar video shoot, no glitz, no glamour
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| My partner did it free with a handheld HD camera
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| And I never won a Grammy, and my album went wood
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| But I got a ghetto plat, for showin' love to every hood
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| I can’t believe y’all be believin' these dudes, man
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| I been seein' these cats about Maybachs
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| And then roll up in a Toyota Corolla
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| Fool your favourite rapper work at Taco Cabana or somewhere, man
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| Just be who you are, man, keep it real, get it the right way |