| I remember, I recall
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| I remember, I recall
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| I remember, I recall
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| I remember, all you said
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| Aiyo, yes sir, everything’s a blessing, let the cess' splurge
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| Spill it in your hand, and let the s’s turn
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| You got them wild style goons in the room, with nothing but coupes
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| And Pumas on, rugged beards, mean underwear
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| Fly in the day, high by night, money right
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| Solidified gangsta with his paintbrush writing
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| Catch me off Lenox, Spanish dip, vintage shit
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| Floating in the open, niggas smoking that shit, you know
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| Vanilla envelopes of cess, 20 bags of bless
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| Pissy drunk, in the project steps
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| Throwing dice, til the sun come out, guns come out
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| Trains through the 151 come out
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| Then it’s back on the block, I’m running from the cops again
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| The old heads love me, asking when I’m gonna stop again
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| But, you know the law of the streets
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| How we gon' dick the freaks and what we do over beats, bitch
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| Yessa yessa, rap is under pressure
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| Had me, had 'em, hungry hoody, wearing hoods, come getcha
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| Four fetcha, eat tracks, Hannibal Lecter
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| Keep gats, Tony Jaa, still, I’m The Protector
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| Street speak, reach peeps, treat peeps aggressive
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| Smif-N-Wessun, Chef connection, nothing less than perfection
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| Peace number 7, God Degree’s the lesson
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| Equality’s the evanescense for my peeps in the essence
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| Fresh mohawk, run up in the gun store, blow off
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| Jump in the couple, sled range, my dame blow off
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| Bamboo need for the go, it’s like chilly
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| Don’t be silly, my niggas pop wheelies for dough
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| I tell you the first time, I ever laid hands on a pussy
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| Smack Earth, Wind & Fire out of jazz, pussy
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| That’s when niggas learned to respect my army
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| Respect my gun and recognize me as a don
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| Listen, I tell no lies, spread no rumors
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| Have your whole family smothered, taking me for humor
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| Get your laugh from elsewhere, your bricks from right here
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| You bleed just like I bleed, so it’s no fear
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| Aiyo, flatten niggas, what’s happening, rap niggas from Staten
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| Gat chunky nine, bullets sitting in napkin
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| Ready to pop your lid off, lay low in Manhattan
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| Stop fronting, buttons get pressed, we jabbed 'em, tagged 'em |