| Once upon a time, steppin on the scene
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| a dope-related youngsta, rappin hella clean
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| a cool type of stance, don’t trip where he’s from
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| to make interestin it’s me Nummy-Num
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| I lived on Ave. what no one ever had
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| broke wit no be -i's feelin hella sad
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| I lied
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| I stole
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| always hella bold
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| but I make no progress, never reachin no goals
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| my potnas they used to, smash and bash
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| talkin trash wit no remorse cappin on my raps
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| even worse than that to make me feel low
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| they drunk all they Hin, and smoked all the dope
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| and girls used to say «Num you’re so cute»
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| «but you get’s no action 'cause you have no loot»
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| well one day walkin down Six-Duce
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| I seen a brother wit Shelly he’s lookin hella juiced
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| he said «Here ye here ye, check out my thang»
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| «if you can rap real good and got songs you can hang»
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| «I already got a rapper Dru Down I’m bout to start»
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| «you can rap on his tape if you can rip it apart»
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| so I ran home and wrote a new song
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| the tape went platinum it didn’t take hella long
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| got a couple of checks and I, brokes out
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| moved to Hollywood, now they think I sold out.
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| Uh.
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| When you makin mo mail then they could
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| hatas think you goin Hollywood
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| Never would, Hollywood.
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| When you move up out the hood
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| hatas think you goin Hollywood.
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| Uh-huh, uh-huh.
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| 2 *(T Luni)*
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| All right stop what ya doin
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| 'cause I’m about to ruin
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| the image of the game that ya used to
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| I look bummy
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| but peeps I’m makin money see
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| so yo world are you ready for me
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| now gather 'round, I’m the new playa in town
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| if you got mo grip then me, then I lay you down
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| I drink up all the Hennessy you got on your shelf
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| so step aside, it’s time to introduce myself
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| I’m T the Luni
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| surrounded by doobies
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| condoms and groupies, love me more then they do Lucchi
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| (you do your thang)
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| an all the notches in the top ten
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| please allow me to do it
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| I’m a freak, I like the girls wit the boom
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| I once got busy in the studio bathroom
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| I’m crazy
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| straight gangsta mack
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| I only stay if baby got back
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| I’m serious
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| they want to swallow me like licorice
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| I never faze back, girls they too ticklish
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| an wouldn’t ride no hoochie in the hood
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| they think I’m too good, rumor has it that I’m Hollywood.
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| 3 *(Cydal)*
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| I can’t be broke
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| I inhale too much bomb smoke
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| the game is savage, makin cabbage in the city of dope
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| when I’m home I’m writtin songs, an I don’t stop
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| nobody step up, or press up, when I set up shop
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| I used to stand in the crowd, watch the dope fiends an wonder
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| man who them fools in the ice cream van
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| that’s Nummy-Num and Yuk trick, don’t you hear the music?
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| playas always haven’t, but playa hatas use it
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| been out for the cash since the day I was born
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| til I changed it, rearranged it to a street game form
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| I write a rhyme, anger feedin 'em
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| every show you see me in
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| deep in M.O.B., 'cause ain’t no folks surviving greediness
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| fiends being wild, so they need to be tamed
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| so I keep 'em all in shackles, 'cause they gotta be chained
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| then I’m back to the honey comb
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| where hustlas get they money gone
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| Oakland ain’t no joke, we all no it ain’t no funny bone
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| a public enemy
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| not even a friend of me
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| the Mobb, will stand beyond the click that why’all pretend to be
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| so don’t be givin me this and that about the hood
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| 'cause they know it’s all good
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| I never could go Hollywood.
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| 4 *(Yukmouth)*
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| I play the landlord, you be the apartment
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| you all know my name Smoke-A-Lot I gotta spark it
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| to get yo bitch started
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| who roll the hardest
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| me as the artist I gotta come out the largest
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| Yuk, I squat a Lexo’s an Num’s squattin Pala’s
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| it ain’t about who ballin 'cause we all clockin dollas
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| that’s why
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| I packed as an eagle
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| people be lookin at me smokingly roll by bomb-beagles
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| rap is like a kilo, of cocaine
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| illegal business and we in this dope game
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| buying so-an-so I’m a playa, I’m a mack
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| huh, but to me you «geek-geek» off crack
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| I smoke sacks wit the purple heads around from the Town
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| put that backyard boogie down,
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| you puffin wit Yuk, you know I blow greenery
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| you want to be like me the Ice Creamery
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| if yo ass ain’t know by now I hits the scenery
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| so cleanery, sittin on chrome eighteeneries
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| I smoke a beedie, a tampa to the wood
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| mainly what I write is for the homies in the hood
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| Hollywood. |