| CRS niggas we keep the guns cocked
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| And I don’t fuck with them niggas, I rep one block
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| I rep 1 block, keep the gun cocked
|
| And I don’t fuck with them niggas, I rep one block
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| CRS niggas we keep them guns cocked
|
| And I don’t fuck with them niggas, I rep one block
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| I rep 1 block, keep the gun cocked
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| And I don’t fuck with them niggas, I rep. |
| Ahh
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| Sacked another worker for weighin up my grams wrong
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| Flyin birds, I ain’t thinkin 'bout a rap song
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| In and out the trap house, hands on
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| Treat the yay all like an envelope, stamped on
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| My nine will leave a paigon in a hearse
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| My niggas whippin white, call it slavery in reverse
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| Nina are in my jeans
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| The industry be sleepin on my dreams
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| So I’m on the street dealin with the feens
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| It’s been a week, I ain’t wrote a tweet
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| I’ve been in the street flyin birds, I ain’t been to sleep
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| I just sold 20 bricks, I’m on a winning streak
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| And in my spare time I kill a beat
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| See the shine in my hand
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| We the Ice City gang
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| Fly to Milan or Dubai for a tan
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| Drivin in the whip, Glock in the stash
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| Violate the click will be on your block in a flash
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| You don’t wanna see me on your block pedalin
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| I leave you in a box like a wedding ring
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| Fuck a punchline and a metaphor
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| My YGs in the frontline sellin dros'
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| Toaster in my lap
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| Weed and coke are in the trap
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| I spit great, these niggas sound mediocre when they rap
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| Me and Jazzy break down keys
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| I don’t mean sweets when I stay round trees
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| It’s Nines…
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| Guess I’m back to square one
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| Had 2 choices, go straight but the square won
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| People lookin at me like I don’t know what’s best
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| Stylez died Cash lifed, all I know is stress
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| This white gyal will sell, she’s a freak
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| Gold-diggers on niggas cuh they sell grease
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| You can look like a champion by next week
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| She moves rapid, could make her worth squad beat
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| Fuck all these computer gangsters, tell em the game’s over
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| Visions of 09, gettin brains in a Range Rover
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| They never knew the swag was off the Richter
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| Scale, we in hell
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| Nothin jail
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| Lookin at pictures
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| See more ass than pampers
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| Had more head than dandruff
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| And I never premeditate a gameplan
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| It’s just a freestyle, but the style must be name brand
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| Gyals gyals
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| Who claim they run the world
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| But some of you don’t deserve to run a mile
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| Let alone be a mum and give birth to a princess
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| And up to now with still man you’re tryna impress
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| All color sticks for her lips
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| Your kid ain’t really got shit
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| A wide selection of flicks
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| But nuttin’s up in the fridge
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| Rob a man clockin your hips
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| Then you clockin, now you live
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| She got snitch him to get fucked
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| She don’t wish him to get fit
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| That’s why it’s just spinnin round in a circle
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| Little Miss, growin up to be like her too
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| No disrespect to the real mothers doin their thing
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| Cause without you, mankind, we couldn’t do a ting
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| That’s why I give my mum a kiss every time I see her
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| Cause I know there’s a lot of chicks that couldn’t be her
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| Real real mother in this world
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| That’s why nuff man don’t have trust in gyals
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| The code on the road is to move silent
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| Even though the feds know that I’m so violent
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| Straight Spartans, when we stampede them
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| All the niggas chat, but they don’t even leave the garden
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| My nigga Keyz dancin the ting, turn up
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| AKs in the ocean, forces gettin bun up
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| You don’t wanna see me run up
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| Hoppin out the E-class
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| The tough job behind the wheel wearin a ski mask
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| 'Member when I had the big ting, but the staircase
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| And I saw them niggas commin so I beat a bare face
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| My ambition is to get dough and tap women
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| I shoot niggas, and I ain’t even been prison
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| You know it’s pain when I tough the mic
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| Niggas say they shootin and but they never touch the right
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| Revenge is a must, I put my hands on the cross
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| I light a nigga up if your gang comes across
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| I swear
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| A whole heap of weed over half a line
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| Mastermind
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| Tight weed and a glass of wine
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| My future looks bright, fam I’m past my time
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| Cross the fine, dog I shine like the stars align
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| I’m on a major tip haters, so what you make of it?
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| Imma take a trip makin hits like it’s way to flip
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| Callin someone fake don’t make it real, can you relate to it?
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| We used to take a whip, make a bit |
| You can take your pick
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| I’ve had to spend weeks in the same clothes
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| Even had to spend weeks in the same Os
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| I get ads cuh the Ps in my chain froze
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| I ain’t shallow but it’s deep, that’s how the game goes
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| Some dogs move like bitches
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| I just wan' a car and a coup like Tiches
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| Couple chicks will set up on my broom like witches
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| Wack rappers need to be removed like stitches
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| It’s time that you clock me
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| I still pick myself up when I drop see
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| I go get her so they’re never gonna stop G
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| I was on one too till I got free
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| Can’t clock me, but look you know the time
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| But go before people hate cuh it’s over, I ain’t fake
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| You may then I don’t wanna know your kind
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| Tryna grow powers, no, I don’t wanna know your dime
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| They say that I’m underrated
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| Understated
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| In a game I want to play with
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| Becomin basic
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| Love having forward hatred
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| and rated
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| Alien on a spaceship
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| Done and displayed it
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| I’ve made it
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| Just for your favorite
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| Cause know the
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| Hated if they don’t rate it
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| Grab opportunities, I don’t let a day slip
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| You lose pay quick
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| Waitin for a pay slip
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| Look, how did you sleep on me
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| Are you awake?, or you was waitin til the street on me
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| By that time someone coulda beat a heat on me
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| It’s that deep, you just shoulda flang a beat on me
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| Whether I know you or not, don’t speak of me
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| We beg you when I was cold with the heat on me
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| On Twitter they can’t believe they cheekin me
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| Tweet tweet tweet tweet, I got a beak on me
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| Top the class, so I never get the merit for it
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| I got lines, but I never get the credit for it
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| See, the dumb fool that was metaphoric
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| You’re apparent that I’ll never get the treasure for it
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| I’m talkin bare weed
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| You need a wheel-barrel
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| Cuh my nigga Nines worth 20 keys of ammo
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| That’s a lot of ammo
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| Fatz clap ammo
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| Stut stut and if a sparrow talk to him with a arrow
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| They already know!
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| We’re rollin 20 man deep
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| We’re rollin 20 man deep
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| Yo, council estate bike ridin to school
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| No ball game, signs on the side of the wall
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| Then I made dough, press the code on my gate
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| Now the sign says don’t dive in the pool
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| Grind some ore
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| Up in the spaceship, X5 pullin up, walkin to face it
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| Ring cloud air force strawberry laces
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| I’ve taught you the basics climb to your
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| Now that’s why I ball
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| It’s part of the work-rate
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| Rolex stature, that’s what the word say
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| Titanic iceberg, mother of
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| So fly like I should be in a birdcage
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| Birthdays, better than I ask for
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| Grey Goose, Red Bull more than a glass full
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| Pourin away champagne on the dance floor
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| Who said I can’t but I’m switchin the weather
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| Makin it rain, better get your umbrella
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| Show room floor when my shit gets better
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| Copp a white M3, lipstick leather
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| Glued to the money call it stick cheddar
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| LV’s on my glass frames
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| Get money live life in the fast lanes
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| Flyboy but I think you missed the last plane
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| First-class game, come and keep up
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| I remember back when I used to be but
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| Now my Louis belt hold my DNG jeans up
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| See what
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| I live life on full throttle
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| Champagne campaign, yea we pop bottles
|
| But it wasn’t always this fun
|
| No, I had a few shots so I couldn’t miss one
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| Then I made money so I let my wrist count
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| Bought a nice iced kettle that will make your wrist numb
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| Made funds
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| Yea I turned snow into cream
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| My phone’s now blowin with green
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| I was sellin the dream
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| Now I’m just swimmin in the money
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| Do you wanna come roam the stream?
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| Scene
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| True Religion jeans
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| Cocaine change
|
| Shoppin in the cocaine Range
|
| I been sittin on planes
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| Cause I like my seats a little higher
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| Got birds and the clothes fam, I keep it lookin flier
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| Tears in my eyes, Jheeze
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| Still on the roads on these cold streets
|
| Walk us the other side, still man it’s no Ps
|
| Bare new niggas in this old beef
|
| RIP Stylez, I hope one of them niggas goes sleep
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| Small to my chest
|
| I don’t know what’s next on store
|
| Bare niggas wanna draw me out, I ain’t a chest of drawers
|
| Chillin with the Presi. |
| in the White House
|
| 300 Spartans, then it’s lights out
|
| Busy trappin, I ain’t gettin
|
| Cuh 2 months back I was jail house, I was gettin gym
|
| And now my dogs are my associates
|
| We suttin close, cuh doggy is appropriate
|
| Focus on my work but I ain’t gettin colleague |
| Word round town that them Church niggas gettin holied
|
| Tightest screeches from the dingdong
|
| Paigons try soundin it off, but it ain’t a singsong
|
| Who’s shootin from the back of the car, they ain’t King Kong
|
| The AK make the car spin off, no Ping Pong |