| So you’ve got so many diamonds
|
| You wear all the finest clothes
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| And your grill is shining
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| As you’re driving down the streets of gold
|
| But you can’t blame me
|
| If I set this stage on fire
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| Ha!
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| Ha! |
| Momma always told me I was crazy
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| And my hoes say I’m amazing, but I don’t listen to a lady
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| But the bitch say I’m hot, and I say «No bitch, I’m blazing»
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| Like, what the fuck you expect? |
| I’m a motherfucking Cajun
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| I feel caged in my mind, it’s like my flow doing time
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| I goes crazy inside, but when it comes out—it's fine
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| Like wine; |
| wait, watch…
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| See? |
| I get better with time like a watch
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| Osh B’Gosh, Posh Spice husband
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| Couldn’t kick it like I kick it, bitch! |
| I Kix it
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| No cereal, like a landing, I sticks it
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| Wherever she asks me, after she licks it
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| «That's too explicit»; |
| well, why you listening?
|
| That’s her pussy
|
| So, hey, pussy: play with pussy or play pussy
|
| But you can’t blame me
|
| If I set this stage on fire
|
| Hahahaha!
|
| They say, «You're nobody 'til somebody kills you
|
| Well, where I’m from, you’re nobody 'til you kill somebody
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| And you know what they say: when you great
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| It’s not «murder,» it’s «assassinate»
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| So assassinate me, bitch
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| 'Cause I’m doing the same shit Martin Luther King did
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| Checking in the same hotel, in the same suite, bitch
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| Same balcony, like, «Assassinate me, bitch!»
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| It’s Lil Tunechi
|
| I don’t rap, I film movies
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| With my rap, you could call me
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| «Mr. |
| Director’s Chair,» yeah, and that’s a wrap
|
| Cut! |
| On to the next…
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| Not the next scene, bitch, the next check
|
| Some say the X makes the sex 'spec-
|
| So play with the pussy or play pussy
|
| So you’ve got so many diamonds
|
| Hey, pussy, lay pussy
|
| You wear all the finest clothes
|
| Do what I… say, pussy, and I say, I say
|
| And your grill is shining
|
| Lay pussy, lay pussy, lay, pussy, haha
|
| As you’re driving down the streets of gold
|
| Hey, pussy, haha!
|
| But you can’t blame me
|
| Hey pussy, don’t play pussy
|
| If I set this stage on fire!
|
| Get 'em!
|
| Straight off the corner of Apple and Eagle
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| Braveheart, bitch, like the times are medieval
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| Married to the game, divorced the cathedral
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| Standing on the corner selling porcelain to people
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| Forced into evil, it’s all in your head
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| It’s all so cerebral, call me Knievel
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| You follow and I lead you, straight to the needles
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| The bottles, the battles, the beetles’ll eat you
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| Momma named Cita—I love you, Cita
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| 'Member when your pussy second husband tried to beat ya?
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| 'Member when I went into the kitchen, got the cleaver?
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| He ain’t give a fuck, I ain’t give a fuck neither
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| He could see the devil, see the devil in my features
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| He could smell the ether, you can see Cita
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| You can see the Cita, see the Cita in my features
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| And she don’t play neither
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| But you can’t blame me
|
| If I set this stage on fire!
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| C3, 3Peat |