| Yeah, la-da-da, la-da-da-da, yeah
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| I never had a role model
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| I was loading gold hollows in my little Glock-40
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| A little shorty, heart colder than December in the morning
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| And I think it was December when they swarmed me
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| Niggas is jealous, fuck can they tell us
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| With them dreams they try to sell us? |
| Probably why I’m rebellious
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| To a fraud nigga, I lost niggas when I got paper
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| It’s like more money I made, they got faker
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| And it’s crazy when your best friend turn into your top hater
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| Wanna roll out on you and smoke you like top paper
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| Damn, what a feeling when you and your homie chilling
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| And you know he got thoughts of probably robbing and killing you
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| Momma said don’t ever, ever let them belittle you
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| And stay away from them haters cause they’ll riddle you
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| Last year was like a bad year
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| Even though I touched more paper than a cashier
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| Small circle, I ain’t never really 'round squares
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| They say there’s levels to this shit, you niggas downstairs
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| Different floors for different bulls
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| Different tours on different jets, my niggas saw
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| Different city with different bitches and different whores
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| Sometimes I look in the mirror, Meek Milly, this your car?
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| Look at your arm, check out your neck, look at your charm
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| And to think my niggas started off with cooking raw
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| When it was hard the coach told me to get the ball
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| I step back for the three, watch it go swish and fall
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| And that was and-one, they thinking how we get this far?
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| We was just down by three and they thought we took a loss
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| They couldn’t D me like Earl Boykins
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| , I’m sticking soft
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| Tried to pick me off like Champ Bailey but I’m Randy Moss
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| And I ran it all for the touchdown, what now?
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| Gold AP all bust down, fuck clowns
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| My heart getting cold, and the streets getting colder
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| They said I wouldn’t make it no way
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| I think my heart getting colder, my heart getting cold
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| Told them I would make it one day, only Lord knows
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| Dedicated, determinated and disciplined
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| When Diddy, Hova, and Baby talking, I’m listening
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| When I be in the jungle, the Devil be whispering
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| Slugs flying by me I hear them, they whistling
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| That was a close call
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| Stand up nigga so I won’t fall
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| My teacher told me I would never go far
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| Seen him last week, he was my chauffeur
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| , I was like «told y’all»
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| Mommy was a booster, daddy was a shooter
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| So they couldn’t blame me when I went and copped a Ruger
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| Looking at my homies, see the ghost of Freddy Krueger
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| Cause if he catch you sleeping he’s gon' knock out your medulla
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| Oblongata,
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| I’m a father and my son don’t see a lot of
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| If I don’t get he gon' probably end up with a chopper
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| In a field out in Philly do you feel me?
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| Told my momma I won’t let these haters kill me
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| Getting high even though it might derail me
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| And I won’t ever let these bitches see the real me, do you feel me?
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| Times change like the Rollie did
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| Now I’m killing these niggas the way that Kobe did
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| Ayo, it gets fucked up when your own family start calling you up
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| Shit, money’s the root of all evil
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| Family start telling you «you acting different nigga»
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| You’re goddamn right I’m acting different
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| With all this motherfucking money
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| But then when it comes from your brother, your sister
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| Your mother, your father, that shit hurts you to the core man
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| When they start acting like something that you ain’t never motherfucking seen
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| You done grew up motherfucker
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| They gave birth to you, know what I’m saying?
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| You got raised, you done played in the park with them
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| This money thing, this shit will fuck you up man
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| You got to watch what you ask for
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| You sure you want this son? |
| You sure you want this money?
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| You sure you want this fame? |
| You sure you want this power?
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| Shit have your own mama talking to you like you ain’t shit
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| Yeah everybody want it, everybody need it, money motherfuckers
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| Get money don’t stop but I ain’t mad at them
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| Shit, but shit even bosses got feelings you know?
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| Dear mama, dear papa, family, we’re all we got
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| Don’t let this money bring us down
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| Shit, everybody eats B, everybody eats, everybody eats
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| Let’s go, hahahah
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| Uh, yeah
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| And we started off as kids, stomach’s touching our ribs |
| And them streets all night like we ain’t have nowhere to live
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| I remember Sundays we ain’t have nothing but Liv
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| Thirty thousand was the tab and you ain’t have nothing to give
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| I ain’t trip, I ain’t trip, I pour bottles, I ain’t sip
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| I let niggas shine bright, you still act like I ain’t shit?
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| Let you have them little hoes, they was all on my dick
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| And your main wanted to fuck me nigga, I ain’t hit
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| Twenty chains, eight watches, can’t fit on my wrist
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| When I speak about them things I never said it’s my shit
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| I said it’s ours nigga and when you’re ready we’re gonna ball nigga
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| Like Kobe Bryant, Metta Peace and Gasol, nigga
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| But I know just what I saw nigga
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| It was envious, you looked sideways and I remembered it
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| The reason that my heart’s cold now on some December shit
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| You used to give thanks for giving on some November shit
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| Talking about the twenty-fifth, matter of fact the twenty-sixth
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| Maybe it’s the twenty-eighth, fuck it though my money’s straight
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| As long as Papi smiling
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| I’mma be on airplane mode flier than a pilot
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| I’ve seen it, I’ve seen it
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| Jealousy in your eyes, I swear that look was deceiving
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| And I was surprised man I ain’t want to believe it
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| You said you would ride but shit, I know you ain’t mean it
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| But yeah nigga I’ve seen it
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| My heart getting cold, and the streets getting colder
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| They said I would’t make it no way
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| I think my heart getting colder, my heart getting cold
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| Told them I would make it one day, only Lord knows |