| I want a lot of money, hoes, and fast cars
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| Kamikaze medallion because I’m a star
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| Light-green in a perfectly rolled Philly cigar
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| (Light-green in a perfectly rolled Philly cigar.)
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| Damn, who would think that I’d make it this far?
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| Young nigga, nineteen, fulfilling my dream
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| Player-haters assed out if they fuck with my team
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| Watching show, left and right, M-Child be what they scream
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| Fucking on hoes that I’ve never in my life seen
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| Vets and Navigators, park 'em in the driveway
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| Platinum and gold plaques, post 'em in the hallway
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| Two-story mansion up on the hill is where I stay
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| We barbequeing and getting to chewing everyday
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| I tell 'em for yes indeed, got clips that make you bleed
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| We’ll plant your ass into the earth like a tree
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| Niggas who ready and scrapping harder than Mr. T
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| From the O.M.P, M-C-H-I-L, D
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| I’m all about making scrilla', flippin' that green dough
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| I’m playing it for no hoe, player-hate, you gotta go
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| Nigga looking dummy from that Hennessey in my tummy
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| Fucking on soft scalps, telling me my dick is yummy |
| On the other hand, I’ve got plans, I’m living straight
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| Keep shit to myself, fuck trying to tell Ricki Lake
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| Kamikaze be the realest nigga, never be fake
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| Bring it how we bring it, nigga, like we’ll blow you away
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| With hot slugs, you dealing with niggas who full of drugs
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| Never go to sleep, roam around like waterbugs
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| Better guard your chest, or your chest full of blood
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| I tell it like it is, Orange Mound be full of thugs
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| You dealing with coffins, with niggas that take shit
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| With niggas with no love, yelling, «I ain’t no bitch.»
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| You better stay in your hood, you ain’t familiar with this
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| I’m dropping motherfuckers like I’m dropping hit after hit, bitch |