| Got a new gig, here you come again kid
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| Fresh out the dog, done did your bid
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| But you can’t stay here no more
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| Not in this crib
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| Not with the foul way that you used to live
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| I remember you would take long trips on the first of the month
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| Not giving a f**k about what I want
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| Break -- uhh! |
| Breathe lyte! |
| Breathe!
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| The day that you left I spent mad dough trying to get shit fixed
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| Cause of your f**king death wish
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| Broken glass everywhere, cause a motherf**ka like you just didn’t care
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| Got my shit shot up, had to buy a new body for my Benz, cause of your wild ass
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| friends
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| Years ago when you started on the scene, back and forth smuggling shit from
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| Caribbean
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| It was you and your boy Dunn, making them suicide runs
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| But it was all in fun till Dunn tried to run with half of your cut
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| Now your boss is looking at you saying «What the f**k is up?»
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| What’s up? |
| But you say, «F**k him» you could start your own ring and things
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| Besides you get a lot of peeps to swing
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| Now you got eight men working 7 days a week
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| 2 be the runners, 5 on the street
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| 1 be the side kick, the right hand, you know the one that ride shotgun
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| thinking he the man
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| They’d kill to be where you are, oh yeah! |
| The druglord superstar
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| You got a new crib, new truck, new car
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| Trying to fit in, throwing parties for them big type rap stars
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| But on the other side of town, shit is getting hot, your man got shot
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| And they blew up your tree spot, on 125th and St. Nick, shit is getting thick
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| Your boy got caught in St. Martin with a brick, now he’s exile
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| You down to 6 motherf**kas and 3 of them motherf**kas is nothing but suckas
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| I got feds at my door wanna know do I know a black
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| Now I ain’t never called ya no shit like that, I’m fed up
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| I can’t take it no more, you see I’m blazing at the next nigga knocking at my
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| door
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| I heard you’re on the run now, D is in the penile
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| Ratted your ass out and gave that what, when and how
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| They’d all kill to be where you are, the druglord superstar
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| They found a boy in the sand, it was Poppi your man with his eyes dug out and
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| you must
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| Be soft
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| Heard they shot up your car and ransacked your loft, now you need a get away
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| A place to hide, cause your man done snitched on the inside
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| You was on the run like a slave aback in the days, you must have been nodding
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| when
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| They said
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| «Crime don’t pay»
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| I got a new gig, here you come again kid, fresh out the dog
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| Done did your bid but you can’t stay here no more, not in this crib
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| Not with the foul way that you choose to live
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| Motherf**ka -- you know what/
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| Just, just take your shit all right! |
| Just take it!
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| Cause I’m sick of this shit — I can’t take it no more
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| Just take it, I don’t know who the f**k you think you are
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| Thinking you could just come back here and try to enter my life -- like I need
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| you
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| I don’t -- I’m thru with you motherf**ka
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| Just get out! |
| You put me thru too much heartache
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| Too much shit
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| I had to go thru -- I can’t do it no more |