| I’m smoking that reefer and sippin champagne
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| Damn mayne, I remember those days I was covered in brain
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| Now it seems I’m surrounded by bitches
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| And covered in chains
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| Switching lanes, heart beating fast and I’m? |
| my brain
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| Born in planes, telling my mama we’ll never be poor again
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| I told her I’d do this a year ago
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| She told me «you're insane.»
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| But I gotta be crazy for people to pay me off shit
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| That I say, shit that I wrote
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| Whole lot of smoke in my lungs makin me feel like a ghost
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| To the sky I go, you the?
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| I’m the villain with the flow
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| No way can we fit him in a mold
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| You’re the one with the feeling in your soul
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| In fact, I’m feeling real close
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| To a whole other moon I go.
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| Private planes on my jetway
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| A hundred joints in my ashtray
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| A couple grand to get just the hate
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| My money coming up fast way
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| 30 grand is on champagne and that’s because I’m thirsty
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| Bubbles: that’s what works for me
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| Fuck, niggas take it personally
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| I drink all day, I smoke purple weed
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| Your money all game and I be?
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| Somewhere in the South of France, overseas
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| Kush is rolled, that good cologne
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| Getting stoned, smoking with the owners
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| If I’m in the club, I’m getting paid to show up
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| That’s gangsta. |
| Real nigga, that’s real gangsta
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| Bitch you lookin at a real Taylor
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| Paper in my pocket, none to spend
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| Just to roll my pot with. |