| Yeah, yeah
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| You just gotta play the cards you’re dealt
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| It’s like making a dollar out of fifteen cents…
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| AMP… AMP on the beat like
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| Yo, ain’t it funny when buddy countin' ya money
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| Buddy study your every utter
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| Wish he was from another mother
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| Born of a different cloth, LRG covered
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| And I move somethin' like a boss
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| Cool nigga wipe me off
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| And you could too since a lil' nigga asked the part
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| Back then in Kimberly Homes where I lived
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| I was learned by them Kurds about them dollars and cents
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| It was never my transaction it was however I did it
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| I was impressed with the whips
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| I asked my father how was it
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| That from zip-locks with two tops is a nick
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| He said, «Play your cards right son, and stay on your shit»
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| He said, «The streets stay watchin', I ain’t talkin' to pigs»
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| And I admit when I was talking to him
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| I got wise and lost the veil pulled over my eyes
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| It energized me
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| It’s double-time grind now, I know they still probably
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| Wishin' they were dealt my hand, but what it cost me?
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| I damn near lost it twice, yea I’ve been to hell and back
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| Five-O at the crib, Momma wasn’t havin' that
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| When five-o left the crib, she said «Nigga pack ya bags
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| «And your packs and your racks»
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| And I packed them fast, Michael Jackson «Bad»
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| I almost burned a bridge
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| Ten years now the word ‘til I had the kids, now I understand it
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| It’s coming full circle now
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| I raise my kids with a rod and a tight lip
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| A few hustles and the studio at night shift
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| Puttin' work in with the team and they like it
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| It’s Jamla
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| Still remain playin' all of these cards
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| Until the bet pay off and put me in a brand new car
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| It’s just the cards
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| And again I don’t reside in no key state
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| Where MTV and BET big radio DJs
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| Get more love in NY than from my local town DJs
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| Don’t show no love to these young artists where we stay
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| The city way
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| My music reminds you of where young Jigga laid and Lauryn played
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| I’m respected, but not the New York way
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| It’s home for home, and my home just don’t understand that way
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| I’ll never do enough to this niggas like Mr. Andre
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| Sixteens want me to keep writing until I’m Donte
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| Retired Culpepper from Carolina like Forte
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| Yo… we forever brave
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| Protect the family ties from the lies and we never trade
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| Success cuts deep, watch fake ones separate
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| And we lose touch with ‘em like our friends held back a grade
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| Know the feeling well, I gotta few on my resume
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| «Jealous» was the motive for it, but fuck it they’ll never say
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| Never was a fan, but wanna holla ‘n collaborate
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| And they turn around and slander on your ass to another face
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| There’s crabs in the barrel operating NC State
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| Just gotta play your cards right to end with the ace of spades
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| Leave with the hearts, ignoring artists that are throwin' shade
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| Playin' in the club, rockin' diamonds like niggas paid
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| I play the female card to my advantage
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| Underrepresented, how they wanna see me rap in it?
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| Cause I can show emotion when most wouldn’t even show feeling
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| For fear of losing your edge calling you «sensitive spittin'»
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| Therefore I touch ‘em with emotion, now they all growin' with me
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| Allowed to do it, make music I want because it’s all indie
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| And take the bulk of my money, wait ‘til we all sellin' plenty
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| I’ll buy a Bentley in Carolina, we all living simply
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| The good Carolina, we can all live the simple life
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| Walk the streets on the humble days and nights
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| Uh, I play my cards like that
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| Leave with hearts ‘til we end it with the spades all black
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| It don’t matter what you’re dealt, it’s how you’re playin' them back
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| So don’t stress baby, just relax now, and play your cards
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| Still remain playin' all of these cards
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| Until the bet pay off and put me in a brand new car
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| It’s just the cards
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| It’s just the cards
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| Playin' my cards
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| Playin my cards all how they was dealt
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| Playin my cards all how they was dealt
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| Playin' my cards |