| Drug dealer Benzes with gold diggers in 'em
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| In elevator condos, on everything I love
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| This ain’t a wave or phase, cause all that shit fades
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| This lifestyle’s forever when you made
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| They tweet about the length I made 'em wait, what the fuck you expect
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| When a nigga got a cape and he’s great?
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| Oven’s full of cakes that he bakes, still spreading paste
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| The love just accentuates the hate
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| This is for my bodybuilding clients moving weight
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| Just add water, stir it like a shake
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| Play amongst the stars like the roof in the Wraith
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| Get the table next to mine, make our bottle servers race
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| These are the games we play, we are the names they say
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| This is the drug money your ex-nigga claim he makes
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| To all of my young niggas, I am your Ghost and your Rae
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| This is my Purple Tape, save up for rainy days
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| And baby mama wishes, along with the side bitches
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| They try to coexist, end up wishing you’d die, bitches
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| Stood on every couch, in the A at the black party
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| No jewelry on, but you richer than everybody
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| You laugh a little louder, the DJ say your name a little prouder
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| And we don’t need a globe to show you the world is ours
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| We can bet a hundred thousand with my safe hold
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| My numbers lookin' like a bank code
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| These are the games we play, we are the names they say
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| This is the drug money your ex-nigga claim he makes
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| Ain’t no stoppin' this champagne from poppin'
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| The draws from droppin', the law from watchin'
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| With Ye back choppin', the cars and the women come with options
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| Caviar facials remove the toxins
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| This ain’t for the conscious, this is for the mud-made monsters
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| Who grew up on legends from outer Yonkers
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| Influenced by niggas Straight Outta Compton, the scale never lies
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| I’m 2.2 incentivized
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| If you ain’t energized like the bunny for drug money
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| Or been paralyzed by the sight of a drug mummy
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| This ain’t really for you, this is for the Goya Montoya
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| Who said I couldn’t stop, then afforded me all the lawyers
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| The only kingpin who ain’t sinkin'
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| Chess moves, that means my third eye ain’t blinkin'
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| Stay woke, nigga, or get out
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| Still pull them whips out, still spread the chips out
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| Might buy your bitch some new hips and yank her rib out
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| The message in this music, all my niggas had to live out
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| These are the games we play, we are the names they say
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| This is the drug money your ex-nigga claim he makes, yah! |