| I live just enough for the city so I get by
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| Money never changed how I felt, would I risk my
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| Life for a dollar, homie? |
| Nah, I don’t think so
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| Greed breeds jealousy, nigga, out here when getting fo’s
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| Catch a nigga slipping, put a bullet in his temple
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| Homie, it’s the same rules, money talks, simple my kinfolk
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| Call it what I’m living like the high life
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| Only if he knew what I had to do to keep my mind right
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| I tell you I got 20/20 hindsight
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| See it in the distance, hieroglyphics keep the rhymes tight
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| My mind like, game recognize that
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| Real recognize real, steel .45 strapped
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| Underneath the white tee, Zimmerman get shot down
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| Hero, it ain’t nothing but a sandwich, call the cops now
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| Fuck the police, stop running
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| White boys terrorize nigga' neighborhoods, gunning
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| Down the innocent, and then the beginning ends
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| You was doing 50 in the 35, the ending is
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| You fit the description of the subject in this incident
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| We gon' have to take you downtown for some questionin'
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| Damn, a blessin in disguise if you ask me
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| I was just about to hit the highway with my last key
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| Could it be that maybe God is intervenes
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| With my life like he did so many times in between
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| A half a block away from the crime scene
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| A minute earlier and that was me, think
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| I’ve been knowing Ross since he was Teflon
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| Same nigga now it was back then, nothing stepped on
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| Dopeman, dopeman yelling
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| Cook it 'til it’s rock hard, bag it up, sell it
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| Aroma so loud, so loud that you can smell it
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| Kept to them niggas getting caught go and tell it
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| Every time I turn around, y’all got something to say about me
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| But y’all don’t know a damn thing about me
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| Just what you see, that’s what you judge me on
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| Every time I turn around the guilty be pointing fingers at me
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| Homie, I’m just trying to be all I can be
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| But not for free, that’s why the fuck we roll
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| I need that
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| Can’t even believe this day here, my nigga
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| I remember us sitting in the parking lot talking about getting money
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| Cracks in the wall, standing in the puddle
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| Sunny south Florida, a cold motherfucker
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| Ready for a war, barely wanna talk
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| Ballys on, my nigga, as they walking back and forth
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| Makes you wanna hustle, take care of my brothers
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| Raymond passed away, here’s something for his mother
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| It never is enough, trying to show her that I love him
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| We were fishing buddies, breed the dog, split the puppies
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| Pictures on the wall, bitches we done raw
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| Niggas getting robbed, the only shit that we can solve
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| We all wanna get it, ball for a minute
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| Accept collect calls, tell our dawgs that we did it
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| Plenty money orders, that what uncle Kenny taught us
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| Keep your face clean when you’re out here bending corners
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| Always keep in mind, you fall in love a thousand times
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| Regardless what we went through, I’m still right here by your side
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| Artificial homies, worse than the ages
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| When you parking all your cars, they wanna know the payments
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| Rose petals stripping on the casket
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| Baby boy done grew into a bastard
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| On that lean, you know I fuck her fantastic
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| Work white as Rita Ora in that plastic
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| Took shots, shed tears, that’s war
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| Bust bottles on yachts, stand tall
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| Catch a case, don’t talk, that’s raw
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| Scarface, Rick Ross: big boys
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| Big boys, Scarface, Rozay, we big boys
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| I need that |