| Too much of anything makes you an addict
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| Take a nigga back down Tobacco Road
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| I give my old soul what it’s asking for
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| I’m trying to find where them angels sing at
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| Where X and King at
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| So listen for the knowledge I bring back
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| Cuz cigarette pack and a deuce bottle
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| Blue collar, ain’t too much we can do, Father
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| Taketh me, I live life so anxiously
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| Tell me this is bout more than sex and buying weed
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| Maybe, but anyway we, burn daily
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| Sip Bailey’s, early sex, unwanted babies
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| Scream push till I push daisies, Pops raised me
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| Through this blind crippled and crazy world
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| I’m just riding along, see where it takes me
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| Keep buying cars and rims until it breaks me
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| I fold like bread on a loose sandwich, too damaged
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| Still I gotta slow down and find a balance
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| No static, got an automatic
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| Too much of anything makes you an addict
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| (Skinny Deville)
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| We spend a lot of long nights trying to make it hot like an open flame
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| Smoking Jane posted on this porch I got this close to fame
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| Without the Leroy, but we live forever Wooden Leather
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| Slum is in my Village like them niggas up in Detroit (what up though)
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| And I’m going for the gusto, every day is cutthroat
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| But I don’t give a fuck yo
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| Gutter bread, slice it different ways I got some shit to say
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| Split the Swisher, pack the hay, roll it up and hit the bitch
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| Addicted to this country living, givin' it my all dog
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| Raw till a fall y’all from here to California
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| Went back again, traffickin' like Raj' «What's Happenin?»
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| I’m traveling, looking for that Kill like I’m Bill ill
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| In my own right left without my soul tight
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| Roll through a cold night, swervin' on a country road
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| Six pack of Michelobs, a Ol' with some funky Dro
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| Too much of anything can make a playa lose control
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| No static, got an automatic
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| Too much of anything makes you an addict
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| (Scales)
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| See I love my reefer, love my Guinness
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| And I don’t fit into society, I’m a menace
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| Slap my balls on your rack like tennis
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| And turn the Henny up and don’t stop till I’m finished
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| I’m pissy drunk, one shot might get me crunk
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| Not to mention shorty rollin' up 50 blunts
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| We got Nappy in this bitch
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| Sticks to the bricks
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| I’m a cowboy, dog
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| It’s to the fence
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| (Skinny)
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| We rollin 90 in the slow lane, with just enough to traffic
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| Cross the line bout forty times a week on the average
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| Forward and backwards, pack is like a sack lunch
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| Ridin' dirty, high as fuck, puffin on a fat blunt
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| What yo ass want, Nappy serve it all day
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| Always keep a Caddy Hog and dog it’s all wood
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| Too much of anything can make you think it’s all good
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| Got a automatic Skinny Deville and we all should
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| No static, got an automatic
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| Too much of anything makes you an addict |