| Faded off the kush, I’m gone
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| Only two years old when daddy used to bring them hookers home
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| Looking like my grandma, my niggas got that ammo
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| We jack-son and then light up the L, Samuel
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| Tunechi in this bitch, nigga, y’all niggas bitch niggas
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| Rats gon' rat, and snakes gon' hiss, nigga
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| Baseball rich nigga, do this shit for all my homies
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| Where them bad bitches at? |
| Come and put that pussy on me
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| Tunechi, you a murderer, boy, you just be killing shit
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| Yeah, you know that money talk, I am the ventriloquist
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| Tranquilizer in the trunk, put your ass to sleep, man
|
| Birdman Junior, got the world in my wingspan
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| How you niggas want it? |
| Have it your way, Burger King
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| I get deep in that pussy, dig her out, surgery
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| Fucking with a real nigga, fucking right, certainly
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| Break in your fucking home, take your life, burglary
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| Whoa, nigga, die slow, nigga
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| For dear life you’re holding on, En Vogue, nigga
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| Unload, nigga, reload, nigga
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| Tools on deck, Home Depot, nigga
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| Well, if life is a bitch, then mine a gold digger
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| Yeah, and all my bitches nasty like a cold dinner
|
| Everyday, I go so hard and work my ass off
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| I’m good, I’m 100 like a fastball
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| It’s Carter IV
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| Yeah!
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| Ugh!
|
| I’m going back in, man
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| Yeah
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| We get fuck y’all money, how you wanna play it?
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| That AK sleep on the side of my bed
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| That’s one eye closed, one eye open
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| Your cap get peeled like ibuprofen
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| I’m sick, I’m ill, I ain’t the nigga to fuck with
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| It’s a crazy world, and life is shorter than Bushwick
|
| Young Money, man, we got this shit by a land slide
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| Boy, I send them Bloods at your ass like a tampon
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| Uptown shit, wet the whole party
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| Weezy gon' ball, bal' like Steve Harvey
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| The heater I’ma tuck her, Tuck-er like De-lores
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| That’s my word, word like the-saurus
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| I don’t see no future in your fronting, I be stunting hard
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| Rap game dependent on me like a bungee cord
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| Fear nobody, but God almighty
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| Shoot that motherfucker till I get arthritis
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| I’m a beast, I’m a ass, I’m ahead of my class
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| I’m a diamond in the rough like a baby in the trash
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| I don’t talk it, I live it, I paint a picture vivid
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| And them pistols popping like they sitting in a skillet
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| I go so hard, go so mean, I’m so New Orleans
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| Told the judge I couldn’t budge, it was him or me
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| Forget the bullshit and remember me |