| Ayo, I try to relax, max chill with my kid
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| Still cats getting shot in front of my crib
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| I try to chill, think «man this ain’t no way to live»
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| So I don’t trip, I dip but I ain’t afraid of shit
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| Cats get it twisted cause' I don’t call it goons
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| Like I can’t have my cousin see your mothers room
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| I ain’t a soft dude, like some assume
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| I got a gully crew and they got a hundred tools
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| I been tellin yall cats its a hundred jewels
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| I’m from the boneyard crews with a hundred dudes
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| I been paying dues, doing shows and mixtapes, shit
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| But still my click sprays shit
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| Lot of cats lookin at me like the clique ain’t shit
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| But we still up in the hood with them radio spins
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| Do you know what its like for you to have fame
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| But your life ain’t change, not a dollar to your name?
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| I bang, so I’m back where the stick-up kids rob chains
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| Where you get shot for a pair of Lebron James
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| I got them long things, and they all bang
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| But I ain’t tryna turn your night to a long day
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| You might be the one if I got the right aim
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| It might be your son if I got the wrong aim
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| And that’s the raw thing, you wanna think about
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| So you better think it out, before you rob the wrong chain
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| (Official verse lyrics)
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| Rap got me hustling, strappin the gun again
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| Blast if they comin in, wrath of the government
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| Laugh til republicans, taxing our publishing
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| Mask if you bubbling, asking you once again
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| To pass off the fucking rent — brothers is broke
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| Never ate with a phony — can’t stomach the hoax
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| Coming too close to death, I ain’t tryin to wig
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| My mixtape’s sponsored by Coke, without the fuckin IronPigs
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| Allentown native surrounded by labor
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| Haters that neighbor the cradle plus the craver of craters
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| Invading til we raided or graduating to weighing weight
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| Debating on waiting or taking garbage until your straight, (thats right)
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| Hold your breath for me, lay you down on a stretcher seat
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| When I’m really tryin to vent like a skecher sneak
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| Until they wrestle me for vesting in that recipe
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| All I had left was three, so these muthafuckas ain’t stressin me
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| Break it down…
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| When you talk revolution niggas take it the wrong way
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| Think you on some Gandhi shit starving in Bombay
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| Till you flood their city with heat like it was Pompeii
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| Have you singing like K-Ci, Jo Jo, and DeVante, (snitch)
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| Wanna fuck your life up? |
| here’s the recipe nigga;
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| Try some crystal meth and heroin and ecstasy nigga
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| Or you could just try fucking ride next to me nigga
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| Bullet trajectory you’ll hit the ground eventually nigga
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| Listen, look at your position, is your destiny written?
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| Is it really free-will that you’re given?
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| Or a choice from one of gods infinite decisions?
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| I don’t need any given religion, its state driven
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| Snake Plissken escape from New York to spread the sickness
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| Unforgiven baron wasteland apocalyptic
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| I’ve indictably scripted everything futuristic
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| So now to the fullest extent is how I live shit |