| Know me from Cali to Bed-Stuy, yeah
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| Motherfucking Phix and Caskey, bitch (Supreme)
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| Yeah, Supreme on the beat, yeah, okay
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| If you ain’t 'bout your paper, don’t know where the fuck you from
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| Ay, running up the fucking bands
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| Bitch, I got the day-date on the wrist
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| Everyday I’m plated with the chips
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| They screaming «mayday» when it hits
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| I made a payday with the wrist
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| Came to the west side
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| You comfortable when the dead rise
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| You made your home in apartments
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| But I feel at home when the jet flys
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| I got killers telling me to go
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| (I got killers telling me to go)
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| Started this amatuer, but now it’s pro, yeah
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| (Amatuer but now it’s pro)
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| I made a couple thousand at the stove
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| But off of music, I done turned a whole
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| That’s shit they know like we in Hollygrove
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| We gotta get it 'fore we getting old
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| We in the city, bitches getting chose
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| I got some pretty women on they toes
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| Bag full of molly made me overdose
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| We come alive, they say we cut it close, yeah
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| We come alive, they say we cut it close, yeah
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| We go to war, we got a hunnid scopes
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| Okay, just jumped out into Vegas, dope ain’t payin' our wages
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| Started with a bag full of pills, now we killing on stages
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| People say they coming for the spot, that shit so outrageous
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| This shit one for the ages, we got coke like the eighties
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| And I just pulled up in the Benzo
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| That’s my lil hiatus
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| We spread so much love 'round the city
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| How the fuck they gon' hate us?
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| Swear that they forever jaded
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| And they shit is going plated
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| They just salty that we made it
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| I just did a 180
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| If you ain’t 'bout your paper, I don’t know where the fuck you from
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| I get that shit by me making hits, I’m tryna be number one
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| And no matter what, I don’t sleep until I see the sun
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| Every move I make for money, I don’t do this shit for fun
|
| If you ain’t 'bout your paper, I don’t know where the fuck you from
|
| I get that shit by me making hits, I’m tryna be number one
|
| And no matter what, I don’t sleep until I see the sun
|
| Every move I make for money, I don’t do this shit for fun
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| Turn it up and break the knob off
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| More lit up than you drinking hot sauce
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| And this shit be so flame when they go and pull us over
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| That I drop the windows and cops run
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| Fuck with this
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| While I do a hunnid with the top off
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| All she wanna do is just talk 'bout the rock
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| But everytime she do, then I nod off
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| I’m with your bitch who don’t tell me to stop
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| Richie Rich, I’m the new kid on the block
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| Gold on my wrist, I got cash on the clock
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| Diamonds be dancing on knuckles I pop
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| Fuck did you thought?
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| I don’t mind if you like it or not
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| Keep to yourself with your thoughts
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| Or you winding up hit on the spot, yeah
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| If you ain’t gonna party then it’s best to go
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| Homie, I know
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| I’m colder than weather an eskimo knows
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| Know that I got it
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| Only drink in the freezer don’t ever get frozen
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| I crack it open when I’m through with smokin'
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| And I ain’t jokin', I’m in one of those modes
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| I’m all about it and you not
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| I been around, fuck you thought?
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| Came from the bottom to the top
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| Juggin' when I hit the spot
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| Ain’t make it here to date a thot
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| Don’t need the time to wear it out
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| Give it everything I got
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| And fuck anyone who I doubt
|
| If you ain’t 'bout your paper, I don’t know where the fuck you from
|
| I get that shit by me making hits, I’m tryna be number one
|
| And no matter what, I don’t sleep until I see the sun
|
| Every move I make for money, I don’t do this shit for fun
|
| If you ain’t 'bout your paper, I don’t know where the fuck you from
|
| I get that shit by me making hits, I’m tryna be number one
|
| And no matter what, I don’t sleep until I see the sun
|
| Every move I make for money, I don’t do this shit for fun |