| What money got to do with it
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| When I don’t know the full definition of a rap image?
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| I’m trapped inside the ghetto and I ain’t proud to admit it
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| Institutionalized, I keep runnin' back for a visit
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| Hol' up
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| Get it back
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| I said I’m trapped inside the ghetto and I ain’t proud to admit it
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| Institutionalized, I could still kill me a nigga, so what?
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| If I was the president
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| I’d pay my mama’s rent
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| Free my homies and them
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| Bulletproof my Chevy doors
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| Lay in the White House and get high, Lord
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| Who ever thought?
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| Master take the chains off me
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| Life can be like a box of chocolate
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| Quid pro quo, somethin' for somethin', that’s the obvious
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| Oh shit, flow’s so sick, don’t you swallow it
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| Bitin' my style, you’re salmonella poison positive
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| I can just alleviate the rap industry politics
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| Milk the game up, never lactose intolerant
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| The last remainder of real shit, you know the obvious
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| Me scholarship? |
| No, streets put me through colleges
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| Be all you can be, true, but the problem is
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| A dream’s only a dream if work don’t follow it
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| Remind me of the homies that used to know me, now follow this
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| I’ll tell you my hypothesis, I’m probably just way too loyal
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| K Dizzle would do it for you, my niggas think I’m a god
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| Truthfully all of 'em spoiled, usually you’re never charged
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| But somethin' came over you once I took you to the fuckin' BET Awards
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| You lookin' at artists like the harvests
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| So many Rollies around you and you want all of them
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| Somebody told me you thinkin' 'bout snatchin' jewelry
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| I should’ve listened what my grandmama said to me
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| Shit don’t change until you get up and wash your ass nigga
|
| Shit don’t change until you get up and wash your ass
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| Shit don’t change until you get up and wash your ass nigga
|
| Oh now, slow down
|
| And once upon a time in a city so divine
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| Called West Side Compton, there stood a little nigga
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| He was 5 foot something, God bless the kid
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| Took his homie to the show and this is what they said
|
| What I’m s’posed to do when I’m lookin' at walkin' licks?
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| The convicts talk 'bout matchin', money and foreign whips
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| The private jets and passports, presidential glass floor
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| Gold bottles, gold models, sniffin' up the ass for
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| Instagram flicks, suck a dick, fuck is this?
|
| One more suck away from wavin' flashy wrist
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| My defense mechanism tell me to get him, quickly because he got it
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| It’s the recession, then why the fuck he in King of Diamonds?
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| No more livin' poor, meet my .44
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| When I see 'em, put the per diem on the floor
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| Now Kendrick, know they’re your co-workers
|
| But it’s gon' take a lot for this pistol go cold turkey
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| Now I can watch his watch on the TV and be okay
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| But see I’m on the clock once that watch landin' in LA
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| Remember steal from the rich and givin' it back to the poor?
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| Well that’s me at these awards
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| I guess my grandmama was warnin' a boy
|
| She said…
|
| And once upon a time in a city so divine
|
| Called West Side Compton, there stood a little nigga
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| He was 5 foot something, dazed and confused
|
| Talented but still under the neighborhood ruse
|
| You can take your boy out the hood but you can’t take the hood out the homie
|
| Took his show money, stashed it in the mozey wozey
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| Hollywood’s nervous
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| Fuck you, goodnight, thank you much for your service |