| I’m from the strip where niggas 'Strapped' as if their first name was
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| Bokeem or Fredro, quick to let the tech blow
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| No need for info, know I rep the mitten proudly
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| It’s 48 227, the shit’s embedded inside me
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| You know where I be, play the crib until the cash talk
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| Smoking sticky through the asphalt, tip them hats off, shit
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| Witness the reign, only twenty & change
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| Went from being shit to motherfuckers knowing my name
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| Can’t stop until I’m pushing the Range, cruising '96 and
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| Bumping Illmatic, mapping motions with my brother, Eric
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| I thought I told you that the text is esoteric
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| Only built for the live where I reside, no façade
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| I’m cut from a cloth that these niggas couldn’t sport
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| In this bloodsport, niggas don’t play fair, I follow suit
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| Don’t fuck with me then it’s fuck you, I’m blunt as can be
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| I’ve been a nuisance since they hung me on them nooses, it’s no excuses
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| A year ago, I was playing PRhyme
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| Now I got Nickel Nine on the line, rooting for me to shine, it’s real
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| Cuz now the veterens see me as brethren, fuck being pressured
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| Cuz I’mma snap necks when I catch wreck, let ‘em know I’m next in
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| (Turn up your stereo, my nigga)
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| You’re officially tuned in to a moolie who
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| Verbally paints a movie by jotting lines on a looseleaf
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| Poetic prophet who persistent & play the position of gifted
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| Extra Prolific, like them niggas from Hieroglyphics
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| If I said it, I meant it, I’m a fucking menace, I’m here from a minute
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| Clocking calisthenics, calculating my quest to conquer
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| Until it’s 40K at concerts, ya heard
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| I work for every buck, murking every bust, the spread’s very plush
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| Canary truck burier, six friends will carry ya
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| Listening to David Ruffin, Mary Puff, Barry Chuck, Barry plus
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| I inherited nothing much but motherfuck a fairy dust
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| Delegate with shell and flames, Mac-11 wrapped in black & yellow tape in
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| cellophane
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| Selling caine, this Heckler and Koch that I got is so well endowed
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| You should tell the cops that it’s immaculate, it would actually still look
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| masculine
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| If I dropped it on Ellen’s crotch in the park while I’m knocking It’s Dark and
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| Hell Is Hot
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| I got no time to be telling lies to these jealous guys
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| While I try to vibe to Big L and Nas, Makaveli, Ready To Die watching Belly
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| That shit is like my daily exercise, shots fired, check vitals, check your child
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| Nobody check out, might wanna check your bials
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| Nigga, wipe off your daughter, we bite too hard to respect your growl
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| Shut your mouth if you’re skeptical, not me, I’m going the extra mile
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| I’m at the farm, extra arm, ready to wet the cows, we could bet the house
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| We come to split you, the difference between writer’s block and uninspired
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| Some of which are against ya and; |
| some are biased
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| Just understand there’s a difference between a man being hot and a man who just
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| under fire
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| Damnit, just come and try us, the humble pie, the young empire, them lies told
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| By those jumbo liars, put them iron throws at your body, will turn your hole
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| into size of jambalaya
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| The undeniable, diabolical, last of a dying molecule
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| I’m sicker than your average, dinosaur when it’s time to roll
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| When that drama close, you’ll be traumatized & be kind of froze
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| I call that shit trama-toast, comical, fingers round his throat
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| If he outspoken, see if he can rhyme what he got in his notebook
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| Got his nose without choking, if not, adios you marrocon
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| You got the baddest hoe, I got the Holly home, check your hottie, homes
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| Me and Nolan catching bodies while we body throw
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| Playing catch with zombies while we standing next to giants yelling hiddy ho |