| Father God, right now I wanna thank you for the ability to rhyme
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| The ability to move and the ability to think right
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| The ability to slow down, the ability to speed up
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| The ability to be in pocket, the ability to swag on these niggas
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| Swag like they could never do
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| Swag like never been done before, nigga
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| Father God, so I
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| Wake up every morning, count my blessings 'fore my mind start racin'
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| Sip my Jack and pop a Xan' before I even wash my face
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| It’s niggas out here starving, fakin' fonk, but swear they ganja stank
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| We took you for a real one from the jump, my nigga, my mistake
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| Please proceed with caution, I might spazz when I’m pissed off
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| Tell a ho to hush, I need silence when my bitch call
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| Niggas in they feelings, I don’t care 'bout it at all
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| Fuck a close-up, nigga, I’m prepared for my lift-off
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| Life gave me lemons, so I made lemonade
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| All organic, y’all sip Minute Maid
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| I’ve took damage, I win anyway
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| Orbit my dick, y’all just in the way
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| She want cock now, I want plenty space
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| Can’t stop now, I been did the race
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| Blowin' off fume now, room need ventilate
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| Spent weekends where Section 8 tenants stay
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| Spent my first rap check on an interface
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| One mic, three-fifths, and a zip of haze
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| Smoke dope with the bros out in Tennessee
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| Come with fuck shit, bitch, get away
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| Cup full of spaceship, that’s my getaway
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| I can’t never draw, you can get erased
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| Niggas hate, leave 'em all with the shitty face
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| I pray my name leave bitter taste
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| Woah, woah, woah, woah
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| Woah, woah, woah, woah
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| Woah, woah, woah, woah
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| Woah, woah, woah, woah
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| Wake up every morning, count my blessings 'fore my mind start racin'
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| Sip my Jack and pop a Xan' before I even wash my face
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| You niggas' spirit starving, give a fuck whether your ganja stank
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| I took you for a real one from the jump, my nigga, my mistake
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| Please proceed with caution, I might spazz when I’m pissed off
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| Tell a ho to hush, I need silence when my bitch call
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| Niggas in they feelings, I don’t care 'bout it at all
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| Fuck a close-up, nigga, I’m prepared for my lift-off
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| I put my soul in this, you’d swear I exist in my own dimension
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| No skateboard, my grind on intense
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| And I feel way more than I want to mention
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| Stay lab locked, perfect my invention
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| While lame lil' hoes do shit for attention
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| When I brainstorm, the shit come with wins
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| That’ll turn that beef you want into riblets
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| What you think? |
| Ain’t shit but a bitch
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| And assault all on your face when I visit, huh
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| Give two fucks about what you’re up to
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| I leave that shit to my bitches, uh
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| Speakin' of 'em, they speak in tongues
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| In my ear, then tug on my zipper, huh
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| Tryna ride me mid-conversation
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| Damn, let me finish my sentence
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| Wake up every morning, count my blessings 'fore my mind start racin'
|
| Sip my Jack and pop a Xan' before I even wash my face
|
| You niggas' spirit starving, give a fuck whether your ganja stank
|
| I took you for a real one from the jump, my nigga, my mistake
|
| Please proceed with caution, I might spazz when I’m pissed off
|
| Tell a ho to hush, I need silence when my bitch call
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| Niggas in they feelings, I don’t care 'bout it at all
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| Fuck a close-up, nigga, I’m prepared for my lift-off |