| The hardest thing for me to do
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| Is to get you, to know me, within sixteen bars
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| That’s the hardest thing
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| Who is K. Dot? |
| A young nigga from Compton
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| On the curb writing raps next to a gun shot
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| On the corners where the gangsters and the killers dwell
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| The fraudulent tender scars that get unveiled
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| Everyone I knew was either crip or piru
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| Cousins in elementary, relatives in high school
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| With that being said, each one of their rivals
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| Was aiming something at my head, I needed survival
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| Got jumped, got jacked, shot at, shot back
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| And I don’t even push a line, I’m just tryna push these rhymes
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| In the midst of staying neutral and discrete
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| My momma said you’re judged by the company you keep
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| But what you can consider, that if it goes down
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| They’ll kill you if you kill me, it gets deep nigga
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| So if you ask what I’m doing
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| I’m tryna duck the influence of my city that’s blue-and,. |
| real talk, and
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| This is why they fuck with me (real talk nigga, believe it)
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| This is why they fuck with me (do what I do, y’know?)
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| I’m no gangster, no killer, I’m just your average Joe (know that)
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| But one thing you should consider, I’m the realest you know
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| I was walking from Centennial
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| When an unidentified vehicle rolled up, and I was like hold up
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| Where you from? |
| «How-bang»
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| Where you stay? |
| «Westside», that’s a piru gang to be exact
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| Well aware they had blue across they hat
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| Dropped backpack and ran inside of the cul-de-sac
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| Shots rang out, hoping to God I wasn’t wet
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| Crossed to cross Rosecrans and ran inside of the yet
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| Chirped the homies on the hot ninety-five, they said they already knew
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| What happened, and meet 'em outside the garage
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| Never seen that many guns in my life
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| I was paranoid like a fiend in the night, but needed revenge
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| Grabbed the nine-ball, opened up the door, then got in
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| Somebody said fall back, we gon' make these niggas suffer
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| You my brother like a frat, and that’s just to remind you
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| Thought about that so long I had failed my finals, fuck, but
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| This is why they fuck with me (I told you nigga)
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| This is why they fuck with me (you fake nigga)
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| I’m no gangster, no killer, I’m just your average Joe (you fake)
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| But one thing you should consider, I’m the realest you know
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| I don’t do black music, I don’t do white music
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| I do everyday life music
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| Give 'em cuts like a nigga pierced a knife through it
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| You say you through, but I’ve been through it, now that’s cold
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| And this is for my county building children
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| In Hub City on hubcaps, no power-steering
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| I use perseverance in this mad city
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| Where the niggas drink Remy and hold semis for cutthroats
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| Bernie Mac died, it’s no joke
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| Don’t ask why if you don’t know about these killers and thieves
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| Seven grams of weed, you smoke that, but I’m high off life
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| I could fall out the sky like twice
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| And land in the land of the AKs
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| And the minivans where the fan never on
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| Cause it’s hotter than a lunatic’s underarms in a straitjacket
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| In other words, we get it cracking, but I keep it cool, y’know?
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| This is why they fuck with me
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| This is why they fuck with me (real talk)
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| I’m no gangster, no killer, I’m just your average Joe (come on)
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| But one thing you should consider, I’m the realest you know
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| So there you have it
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| But I’m a leave you with this
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| An OG once told me
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| A real gangster is either dead or in jail
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| Or behind the scenes getting real money
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| I’m gone |