| In my life
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| There’s been heartache and pain
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| In my life
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| There’s been heartache and pain
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| There’s been heartache and pain
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| In my life
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| There’s been heartache and pain
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| I’m still that regular, cetera cat, from the street
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| Thuggin it, lovin my life as Memph Bleek
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| But I’m stuck with, huggin that block, sellin that D
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| Grew up with, nothin but killas and O.G.'s
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| I’m the product of the ghetto 'til they bag me up
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| With a bail stash in case they snatch me up
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| I’m a soldier in this war and I resemble my pops
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| I ain’t nothin like him, that’s where this criminal stop
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| I provide for the fam, divide them grams
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| Cook it, make flips, survival plans
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| Bein successful, I had every intent
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| But I went to the high school a playin the bench
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| We live off wit, just like our switch-up strips
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| I was raised by the gun so I switch up clips
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| Gettin my hustle on, tryna switch up kicks
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| I won’t change bein thug, I won’t switch up shit
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| It’s my life nigga
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| I’ve put work in, for me to reach this level
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| To let the world know that I speak for the ghetto
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| I’ve been through the struggle, downfall and the hurt
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| Puttin the close one, deep in the dirt
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| I lost one a my road dogs in nine-eight
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| I still see him everytime I look in his mom’s face
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| But don’t cry (ma'), we gon' see the light
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| I know he up in Heaven and he gon' lead us right
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| I live by the street so I’m a die by the street
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| As long as I’m alive his daughter’ll never need
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| We used to be this close
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| But now it feel we this far apart, me and that nigga can’t talk
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| We can’t bag and kick it, bag some bitches
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| Only time I see 'em, is when I glance at pictures
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| But I gotta face the fact, my nigga is gone
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| But I’m a ride to the death, and still I mourn
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| In my life nigga
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| In my life (echoes two times)
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| In my life (echoes two times)
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| Sometimes I just grab the car keys and ride
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| With no music, I’m just ridin the vibe
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| I done came a long way, from usin the plate
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| Touchin the eight, who would’ve thought I’d make it today
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| It was just yesterday, moms waitin on the stamps
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| The spot got shot up, and Dre still locked up
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| It’s me against the world with no brother, just a revolver
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| And I ain’t thinkin about seein tomorrow
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| I got sixty-two grams and a six-shot eight
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| With plans to hit the block and get shit straight
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| But my dog just got shot, spot just got rushed
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| I lost all my weight when the crack pot bust
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| I was left with zip, zero, nothin
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| That’s when I realized that my life ain’t 'bout nothin
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| The world wouldn’t understand Bleek in the street
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| So I took it to the booth and gave y’all the speech |