| I’m out too late, I’m never home
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| I work too much, I sleep too long
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| My mamma keep calling me
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| She scared when I’m gone
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| My mamma keep calling me
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| «Like you think you grown»
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| You think you grown
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| But a nigga on a mission
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| Bigger crib, bigger kitchen
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| Young nigga with a vision
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| I’m just playing my position
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| Who with me, who isn’t?
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| No time to be missing
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| I thank god for my niggas
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| And the kids that listening
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| Days turn to weeks, weeks turn to months
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| Leaving all my friends I ain’t going out to stunt
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| We ain’t have time to just kick it, fake punt
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| And I hope they all got good intentions like puns
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| Running, Chris Brown dancing to the money
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| Mom start crying when I leave like it’s something
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| It’s nothing, kiss her on the cheek, call on Sunday
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| One day have her sit next to the runway
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| Cause she know when I’m coming
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| I’m coming home with some money
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| A couple Grammy’s or something
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| A different path for my youngin’s
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| My family never had nothin'
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| I wasn’t part of discussions
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| Them bigger headaches, concussions
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| We get the -itis, conjunctive
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| Incoming call, fam on facetime
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| I’m watching them all
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| If they come with me the we all get to ball
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| Swear to god I be doing this for y’all
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| But a nigga on a mission
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| Bigger crib, bigger kitchen
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| Young nigga with a vision
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| I’m just playing my position
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| Who with me, who isn’t?
|
| No time to be missing
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| I thank god for my niggas
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| And the kids that listening |