| We get higher and higher
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| Crazy blue
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| Like St. Elmo’s fire
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| Love’s so sharp
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| And flat
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| That it’s hard to know just where you’re at
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| From the back to the front door
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| Dealers on the Southside sellin on their front door
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| Little bit of weed, little bit of crack, whatever you need
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| While I’m sellin out shows in the ice cold
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| Shout out to the homies in the front row with the blunt rolled
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| That waited for hours in the snow just to see me flow
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| So you know I gotta stay after the show
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| 'Cause if Chi-Town show love, I’m a show love
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| Outside, no gloves in the wintertime
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| 'Cause I’m hungry like dinnertime
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| Stayin for every single one of my fans
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| Autographs 'til I couldn’t feel my hands
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| Just a man with a plan, but you wouldn’t understand
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| I get high by the notes, you get high by the gram
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| While you smoke to this
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| Reminisce when I wrote to this
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| Up-and-comers take note to this
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| We get it done on tour, waking up before the sundown
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| Lake Shore Drive shooting videos
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| On the block getting spotted by them city hoes (Hey!)
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| I know I never had to wonder if it’s love or not
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| Shout-out to the homies up at Juggernaut
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| For keeping a motherfucker fresh, hell yes
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| No contest when it comes to gear in the city they be the best
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| Love my girls outgoing in my City, Chi
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| But it’s MD 'til the day I die
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| We get high
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| Oh so high
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| That my mind is in the sky
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| Shorties love it when I rub it
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| 'Cause I never leave them dry
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| We get high
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| Oh so high
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| That’s what they say in the Chi
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| I get high
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| You get high
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| 'Cause I’m the one that supplies
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| Shout-out to the Bobby Soxer girls that just love the flow
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| Chillin out late night with the weed lit blunt split and the paper rolled
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| RattPack smoking loudpack yeah they 'bout that
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| Haters talking shit yeah I never doubt that
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| With the GPS flow we re-route that
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| Road to riches we be 'bout that
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| Getting money like Oprah
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| Fryin' motherfuckers like Okra
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| Put your L up if you’re a smoker
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| Full-time toker
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| Everything I got that’s what I’m given no division 'til it’s over
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| Sleeping on the Young Sinatra like a sedative
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| Now they on a brother’s dick, so repetitive
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| And they wonder why (and they wonder why) |