| Another day, another dollar
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| We just tryna provide
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| Another day, another drama
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| Couple shots in the sky
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| 'Cause every day was Fourth of July
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| Minus the ambulance, news, cameraman
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| Pan to the homicide
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| Look at mama cry, pray to God I see 25
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| Knock on wood, wood grain wheels strolling through the hood
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| Sitting proper like a nigga should
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| Gold chain with the cross like a hater jug
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| They like Lute, drop another mother fuckin' mixtape
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| You ain’t got shit to prove, I got shit to do
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| Plus, my rent is due so I I assume
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| You gon' pay my dues for my lease is up
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| Ain’t got shit to prove, I got shit to do
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| Baby mama trippin' bout some formula
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| Contemplating robbing banks and hold 'em up
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| Fuck my 9 to 5, but my lights is on
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| Bright enough to write this song where I belong
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| Like fuck it, what’s that ruckus in the trunk, bruh
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| Lute, where the fuck that shit that can bump, bruh?
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| True, all I spit is real, hope that you can feel
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| Whether it be my pain or how a nigga live
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| Now a nigga back, back up in the trap
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| Preciate the love, so I love you back
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| Even when my home ain’t where the love is at
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| I’m just tryna feed my daughter, nigga, fuck a rap
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| Lord, I can’t ever catch a break
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| I can’t depend on this shit here to save me
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| 'Cause a lately I been working up a scheme
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| I can’t spend my life chasing no paycheck
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| Lord, I can’t ever catch a break
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| I can’t depend on this shit here to save me
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| 'Cause a lately I been working up a scheme
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| I can’t spend my life chasing no paycheck |