| Sitting in the big house filling his mouth
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| Then he got up and went to go chill on the couch
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| And watch TV, lit up a blunt, was not breathing
|
| Airways, for days kid, looked like a three-ring
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| Circus act, look at the shirt on his back
|
| Need a neck smack, used to walk out the left rack
|
| Now he can’t even walk to the store
|
| Need a vehicle, next he gon need a miracle
|
| Some villains he was banging with was ill
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| Cause they laughed behind his back and then go to his crib and chill
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| And watch him smoke more and drink more
|
| And think poor without saying shit to the boy
|
| I seen him one day, making my way to the city
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| Looking like he was doing self-pity
|
| Said man, throw the self-pity pit in the can
|
| Basically, in a nutshell, this is what I’m saying
|
| You gotta get off yo ass
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| You gotta get on your
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| You gotta get off yo ass
|
| You gotta get on your feet
|
| It’s going, it’s going, it’s going, it’s gone
|
| Opportunity only once come along
|
| Some every-odd years, wherever I is
|
| I seize the moment to see some Roman
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| Numerals, in piles and piles
|
| With the creamy French dressing or Thousand Isles
|
| All salad, unravel a bank roll and pile it
|
| Then go and get another stack, rolling with the wolf pack
|
| Main street blessings, effervescence
|
| Ever since God called me back to the lessons
|
| I flourished, stepped with courage, to get
|
| Or richer, in either direction, you get the picture
|
| Crystal-clear like diamond wristwear
|
| Another hot heat-seeking missile for your ear
|
| On fire, on the flyer in big letters is
|
| L-A-R-G-E, bringing the medicine
|
| Been banging ever since riots out in Cali
|
| Remember in 85, was at the rally
|
| Traveled the globe and the worlds beyond
|
| Not dissing, just listen to the words in the song
|
| Another public service announcement from your friendly neighborhood Large
|
| Professor
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| Get off yo ass, and get on yo feet!
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| And keep your beat to the street! |