| What you want, you ain’t gon' get it
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| What you need, you won’t admit it
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| It really don’t matter how hard you try
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| Cause money can’t buy respect
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| The material mind is enticed by the dollar bill
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| It makes some brothers fight, and some would even kill
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| Some will do anything for a bill
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| Cause they think they’ll get respect
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| Bought a big Mercedes, and you got about ten more cars
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| Now you impress the ladies, and you’re a neighborhood star
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| Gold on your fingers and your neck
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| But you still get no respect
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| Your mind is weak, so when you speak
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| You’re obsolete, your mental peak
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| Is in the street, your mouth’s a beak
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| Big like a bird, and your future’s bleak
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| Now you should seek some help decree
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| You’re sellin crack and livin cheap
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| Bought a brand-new ride to go beep-beep
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| Playin music outside loud in your jeep
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| But you should know, unless you’re slow
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| There comes an end to the sidewalk show
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| And up the river’s where you’ll go
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| Wearin stripes from head to toe
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| No fancy gold, no fancy car
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| And the brothers inside don’t care who you are
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| A 7-foot brother doin life
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| 300 pounds, says you’re his wife
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| Walks in your cell and says: «Fix it up»
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| Then you look up and say: «Not the butt»
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| He says: «Shut up» «But… but» No 'but'
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| Now what you gonna do, freaky-deaky or what?
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| The money was good, the money was fast
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| No business mind and the money won’t last
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| In the money rate you fell first to last
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| Now every night you fight for your ass
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| They say what goes up must come down
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| All hustlers know that sound
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| Cause you’re here today, gone the next
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| And you’ll find out the hard way: you get no respect
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| Man, you must be crazy and bugged
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| Whatcha mean I don’t get no respect?
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| You crazy?
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| You got to respect me
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| Cause I was the first millionaire off the streets, boy
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| Ain’t nobody ever had a hustle like mine
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| In '72, I was killin em, boy
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| Man, go 'head, go 'head
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| I’m tellin ya, I was shittin on it
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| Word up, I was the man
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| And a car — these niggas ain’t got no cars today, man
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| My car was so pretty, I ride by, niggas' dicks get hard
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| You dig what I’m sayin?
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| Ha-ha, man, get outta here, go 'head
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| Caddy, boy, Grand Daddy Caddy
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| They used to call me Mackaroni Tony, boy
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| Aw man, go 'head, shut yo broke ass up, man
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| Word, I spell it out, I’ll yell it out
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| For those brothers that keep sellin out
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| Cause local clout is all you’re about
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| A few bullshit bitches and hanging out
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| And every day’s like a title bout
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| When the next man wants you taken out
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| I’d like to know what you’re thinkin about
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| It sure ain’t dyin without a doubt
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| But you better wake up before it’s too late
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| Or they’ll be doing your make-up down at the coroner’s place
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| And you will have lived just to die
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| And you’ll die with no respect
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| Yo man, what about hoes, what about hoes?
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| Hoes?
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| Shit man, I had mo' bitches than muthafuckin Con-ed got switches, boy
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| I had hoes, loads of hoes, you know what I’m sayin
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| Hoes, hoes, you dig?
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| You’re just talkin shit
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| I had all the money man, I was the man…
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| Where you goin Sam? |
| Hold up, hold up
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| Yeah, yeah — well, I’m outta here
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| I don’t wanna hear more of this shit
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| Wait, before you go — can I get a dollar, man?
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| Aw, go 'head, you broke ass, I ain’t hearin no more of that shit
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| What happened to all your money, boy?
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| Aw go 'head, nigga, I thought you said you had all the money…
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| I got all the money man, that shit ain’t happenin to me
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| You just fucked up man, I know how to hustle
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| I got respect, you crazy, man
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| I can go in any liquor store, anywhere, anytime 'the day
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| And get any bottle or anything for free, that’s respect, boy!
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| Aw go 'head with all that shit
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| That’s respect!
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| I got the dollar boy, I’m the man nowadays, you understand?
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| You was killin em in '72, I’m killin em in '87, man
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| That shit ain’t happenin to me, I’m the man!
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| Yeah, I’m a hustler’s muthafucka
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| Me — I ain’t never fallin off
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| Aw man, I used to say the same thing, man… |