| This is not to be rewarded
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| Killin' beats that wasn’t mine when all my vocals was distorted
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| See King Dizzy’s no different than King James
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| Cause I live to learn, the world don’t want another Michael Jordan
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| Look, even though I got a jumper like Larry Bird
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| With all these white girls screaming for me singing every fucking word (word)
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| I can tell that you the homeboy that ain’t never riot
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| Me? |
| Oh I just make fashion statements almost every night
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| I’m taking flights without no seatbelt on and landing
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| Headed to the top and I’m leaving all of these fuck niggas stranded
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| Nothing handed, we with that learning money management movement
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| Save it just to spend it, do a show and then I recoup it
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| Young boss man, fuck an off brand
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| Me? |
| I’m fuckin' on this bad bitch with a big booty and soft hands
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| That wanna be my wifey when I’m off cam
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| But when I’m on cam, she already know the program, I’m pro-gram
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| So I roll up more grams to slow jams so we can vibe out
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| We the Cadillac boys, she hop inside so we can ride out
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| She turn the music up and twist the weed
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| A real nigga baby, this trip’s on me
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| It’s crazy how the trouble kid excel right past 'em
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| Mashing it’s a habit, like fuck it, I gotta have it
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| She bad, then I gotta bag it, touching her like a tablet
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| My whole camp moving forward, you just living in the past tense
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| Shit, I’m tired of these has-beens
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| I think it’s time to cash in
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| Get your weight up, motherfuck a hater
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| Homie in it for the paper, get to stepping like Omega
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| Weight up, wake up, grind 'til the day up
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| Straight up, say what, it’s easy as a layup bahhh
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| We do it 'til they pissed off
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| Hustlin' like Rick Ross, dick stained with lip gloss
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| (Battles! It’s Fly America!)
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| Look, want the money and respect, you can keep the power
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| Plan to grab the whole world, it may take a hour
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| Bad hoes in bath robes when I take a shower
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| Pussy sweet as presidential, call it Eisenhower
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| My momma wit it, that honest living I gotta get it
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| The finest women, I try commitment, then I forget it
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| She riding in it but still in awe that I’m 'bout to hit it
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| We got a witness, I’m spitting raw with no contradiction
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| Whoa, they hating on the daily
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| Used to freestyle for free but now you gotta pay me
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| Career going 80 and it’s starting to drive 'em crazy
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| Fly America, I’m a patriot, call me Tom Brady
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| Take it all and leave the rest with 'em
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| I’m done with the chatter, wanna be the next victim
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| Call Doctor Khaled, got the we the best syndrome
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| Undefeated, never lost like a GPS system
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| Get 'em, I bet you hate that we winning
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| Keep giving your opinion, it ain’t making a difference
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| If you can’t take the heat, then stay away from the kitchen
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| Your album name is lemonade, could be made in a minute
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| Get it? |
| Minute Maid, I’m a renegade
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| They been afraid, I tend to blaze when I’m center stage
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| Pitching game on my Clemen stain with a different name
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| Pad all the walls, it’s 'bout to get insane, flame
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| You could tie me in a straitjacket
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| Proclaimed the nicest in my age bracket
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| I’m really being modest cause I hate bragging
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| Study who I am, cram like my name backwards
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| Ha, it’s too much for y’all
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| Hating on a nigga, so Ku Klux and all
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| The pain temporary dog, I grew up to ball
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| Think I’m visually impaired, I don’t see them at all
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| It’s Battles
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| (Yeah, you know you can’t forget the Z)
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| They throwing salt in the game, nigga Skip Bayless
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| On that totem pole shit, stacking big faces
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| Long list of (?) from the wrist, take it
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| Fly with his (?), it’s why the chicks chasing
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| Naked if she with me, thought you knew this
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| I’ve always had a thing for a nudist
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| Riding on the strip, it’s only right I play my new diss
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| Every time I hear a nigga’s song it’s like this in a new diss
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| Tell me what I don’t know
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| Who needs a budget when the haters handle promo
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| Before they claim King Basquiat was the logo
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| I stitch crack in every line, the shit’s so dope
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| Never been the type to talk, we a Comcast
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| Looking all directions possible, the compass
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| Jean piece 'em when the bullshit don’t come pass
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| (???), swear this money tend to come fast
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| No dubstep but I get you beta for cheap |
| The bed I land was made up by me
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| My ex is PI, check all the latest to me
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| Only time she touch the star, she favorite the tweet
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| I’m the dude like I was robbed — take it from me
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| I couldn’t tell you 'bout the time she was taken from me
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| Read my pea sized proof and just take it from me
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| The larger picture, most niggas need patience to see it
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| (Don't forget the Z…)
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| On that cypher rap shit, I’m still the awkwardest guy
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| Then drop flows and serve cats with an order of fries
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| When my album’s in your whip, make sure the volume is high
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| ‘Cause shit is fresh, they been calling me the Lord of the Fly
|
| I’m part samurai, part Spartan
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| Part ninja with a pirate’s attitude, proceed with caution
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| You wish you kept it moving after you step into warriors
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| Who butt heads like pachycephalosauruses
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| You won’t be standing when the fucking dust settles dude
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| So now y’all know exactly what the fuck my pen’ll do
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| I’m close, I can feel it in my gut, call it seppuku
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| But ain’t no swords involved with all the shit I’m ‘bout to execute
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| So play it cool like ehhhh, yo his shit’s straight
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| Like I ain’t what you bumping at the gym while you lift weights
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| I let these kids hate, then ask 'em how my dick tastes
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| And write a whole mixtape on one fucking sync break
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| Bitch, name a kid who could rap that dope
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| Since high school, I held the pad and the backpack close
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| While them one hit wonders, they could stack that dough
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| They’ll be in gone in 24 like a Snapchat post
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| I’m a ghost motherfucker, shit I need me a tan
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| A strong drink and a model on a beach in the sand
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| But that’ll come when I accomplish all the dreams that I’ve planned
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| And get more radio activity than seas in Japan
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| Every station in rotation, they’ll be playing my shit
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| Until then, I’ll be anywhere they pay me to spit
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| You ain’t got shit on what I’m gonna do
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| So pump the brakes like a school bus and stop it right in front of you, bitch
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| Emilio, my name is synonymous with the truth
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| Like Chris Brown name is synonymous with abuse
|
| (Fuck the system!)
|
| It’s like it’s anonymous in this booth
|
| I be riding uptown with some mamis that’s in the coupe
|
| And we don’t like nobody except the clique that we rolling with
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| You ain’t on the dick, I expected you to go and hold the shit
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| Buzz a little bit, I ain’t have a label promoting it
|
| I never had a fucking co-sign, I been alone in this
|
| My heart’s cold, my ribs are refrigeration
|
| My lungs are like ventilation, don’t fuck with this Venezuelan
|
| (Just the tip!)
|
| Now y’all will get fucked with no penetration
|
| I be rocking All Saints, they cuts have been venerated
|
| Ah, our generation is drug addicted and lost
|
| But I ain’t judging nothing man, Jesus carried the cross
|
| And Mari bust it open, them Virgin Marys are gone
|
| If Jesus was a carpenter, license seen, he has a saw
|
| Street code of ethics, the code of silence
|
| And I seen a fiend so co-dependent on dope we buying
|
| They took his ass to court as a co-defendant on trial
|
| And they lock him up for what they should treat him for ‘cause they wylin'
|
| Shit ain’t never change, it ain’t gonna
|
| They should make my people legal before they do the marijuana
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| Instead INS will be rushing us to the border
|
| ‘Cause you can’t tax a person for wanting more for they daughter
|
| (It's E to the M-I, L-I, O, I’m saying)
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| Whoever want it can get it, word to you and yours
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| I don’t buy convertibles, you know they shoot in doors
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| I ain’t to be slept on, but niggas asleep
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| Like the king to be crept on, so niggas’ll creep
|
| Stay in your lane or get swept on, cause niggas is sweet
|
| Yeah he came with his weapon, for niggas to weep
|
| Try and name what they rep on, the niggas’ll reap
|
| Anything getting stepped on, my niggas’ll leak
|
| Shouldn’t have played, playing for keeps
|
| Bullshit all ya’ll talk came with receipts
|
| I aim, squeeze, bang and repeat
|
| Stain in the streets
|
| Think before you rap before they clap the brain out ya peeps
|
| Skullcandy soldier, (???)
|
| (???) full of shells like the Zi in Zeeti
|
| Let the Macaroni fly, satisfied when you bring me half of only I
|
| Then you laugh and throw me fire
|
| Pause this rap shit, been ahead of my time |
| Ahead of my grind, no pawn keep a head to my nine
|
| Nothing in my mind made up, I made up my mind
|
| That’s if a nigga play us, I’m facing my time
|
| Want the crib (…) can find
|
| Hardly got living room space, haters lamp shading my shine
|
| From the cradle to the grave of my grind
|
| Filet a nigga from the navel to the waves of my nine
|
| My influences are cable and crime
|
| Making bagel designs and being a fucking tornado with rhyme
|
| My influences are cable and crime
|
| Making bagel designs and being a fucking tornado with rhyme
|
| I’m done |