| This is my time, this is my hour
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| This is my pain, this is my name, this is my power
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| If it’s my reign, then it’s my shower
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| This pole position, I made a lane cause they blocked ours
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| Dope boys, block bleeders
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| Gold diggers don’t stop either
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| Motivation is misguided if it hit the mark, then it’s not needed
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| Carry on like a carry on, and my side bitch I let tag along
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| Call me «daddy"from a complex,
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| Cause her mother’s fucker wouldn’t marry mom
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| No excuses, no regard
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| Step on the brick like a promenade
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| Twenty thousand on calling cards
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| And I’m speaking spanish like Don Omar
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| But…
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| I’m King Push, this king push
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| I rap nigga 'bout trap niggas
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| I don’t sing hooks
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| Fuck nigga, with the sly talk
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| Miss me, with all the pie talk
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| When them lights on you, and them letters big
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| You point us out, just like an eye-chart
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| But that’s my fault, my details of the sidewalk
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| For eleven years, we seen better years
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| We was sellin' birds over the time port
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| My first grammy was my first brick
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| Red carpet, every bad bitch
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| More BMF than billboard
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| I got a label deal under my mattress
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| Cause…
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| Vultures to my culture
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| Exploit the struggle, insult ya
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| They name dropping 'bout caine copping
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| But never been a foot soldier
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| Let’s have another look, just get a little closer
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| Rage against the machine, black Zack de la Rocha
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| In a cranberry roadster, inside track on the g rap poster
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| Best d-boy all I’m missing is a dash
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| Difference between me and Hova
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| But… |