| Damn shawty
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| Got damn living it up ain’t you
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| All that designer shit man
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| You know what I mean
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| Got damn you living a dream bruh
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| My shades more expensive than your J’s
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| My chain indicates that I’m paid
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| My lady say it’s time to get engaged
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| She say I go on tour and misbehave
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| Our bills are never late
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| On the stage rocking like I’m Jimmy Page
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| But fuck swag, I ain’t dressing up like Kid 'n Play
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| Trying to snap on every track like Eminem on Renegade
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| If you ain’t heard of me then you been living in a cave
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| Or sitting in a grave, or listening to Drake
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| Any minute the shit will disintegrate
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| This music business is fishy like penetrating a bitch who didn’t bathe
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| Wanted on the streets like I went to prison and escaped
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| Fuck the police, these authority figures get disobeyed
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| In the broad day bullets be grazing and ricochet
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| No games, only participating in pistol play
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| Im rappin I should be cracking inside of a crème brûlée
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| It’s like I’m pinned against a cage, fightin' in the MMA
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| Bitch
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| It is what it is but it ain’t what it seems
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| People thinking that I’m living a dream
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| Ohhh ohhh yeahh yeahh
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| When I roll through in my old school Cut' Supreme
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| They be thinking that I’m living a dream
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| Ohhh ohhh yeahhhhh
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| Yeah
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| My older brother’s a teacher, one of his students asked
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| If I ever game him money, it’s funny, people think I got stupid cash
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| If they only knew the half
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| Hoping I got loot to last me to June and it’s April
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| Afraid to go and do the math
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| Covering my emotions, hope they don’t see through the mask
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| From the outside looking in it’s different, looking through the glass
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| Me and Tech ain’t Bernz and Wrek, me and Wolf ain’t Snoop and Daz
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| Cause the truth is that this music crap is difficult to grasp
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| That’s why you never see me go on interviews and bash
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| Other rappers, I’m not the dude booin' while you at bat
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| Cause I still got a pill problem
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| My dollar bills still got a film on 'em
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| Feeling like some loser trash
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| Responding to Twitter mentions, groupies getting too attached
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| Homies clueless asking questions, «When they sending you a plaque?»
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| Explaining how budgets work, recouping and how I’m stressing
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| Cause I never see a check from selling 50,000 records
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| But
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| Yeah
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| I’m sick of people speaking for me like ain’t a day I was stressing
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| Why the fuck I’m living life somewhere lost in a thousand questions
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| Every blessing got me grateful but these haters got me hateful
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| So I take it 'til I’m permanent resting, but they don’t see that
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| All they see is that I’m a trip
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| Fuck 'em, I’d rather kick it and dive inside they woman' lips
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| Yeah this whip I ride is nice but why you worried 'bout the price
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| What about they days I walk and hustle just to starve for nights
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| And that’s for real
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| Why are they acting like they was on side of me
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| They don’t remember when everyone lied to me
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| Left me alone and that was cool back then
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| But now that they looking they acting like they was the one that was doing it
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| Telling me they was my people
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| They thought they had me fooled back then
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| Not Trae, no not today, I’m living for me
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| No opinion got me in shackles, shit I’m living life free
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| And everything seem to be a dream, I tried to tell 'em wake up
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| But instead they’d rather hate me getting cake up
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| Shit |