| I’m still waiting on you
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| Yes, I’m
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| I’m still waiting on you
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| Yes, I’m
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| I’m still waiting on you
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| Yes, I’m
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| I’m still waiting on you, you, you
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| Taking it back just like that
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| I’m still waiting on you niggas to inspire me
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| Lately, I’ve been feeling like retiring, you B.S.'ing
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| I take a pull from the Romeo y Julieta
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| Like if niggas ain’t leveling, hiring, UPS is
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| I’m challenging y’all niggas to move the needle
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| If not, fuck it, I made enough, it’s cool with me though
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| The quickest way to have your pimping in doubt
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| Is to let the hibachi chef throw a shrimp in yo' mouth
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| That’s a flag like it’s crips in the house, fag like a dick in the spout
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| Past life itchin' just to come out
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| All of y’all just be telling them lies
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| Most exciting thing y’all can do is jump out the closet yelling «Surprise!»
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| I’m a product of Funkadelic and Parliament
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| I blow the roof off and make all you chicks suck my doggy dick
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| I give you niggas a Mardi Gras full of martyrs to party with
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| It’s apparent, I slaughter you and your guardian
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| So tell your muscle I make a doctor open him up
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| And button him looking like a skeleton wearing a Cardigan
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| Now, who the fuck want it? |
| Now of you who got the back of
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| Who the fuck want it, bro? |
| I got the scolio
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| Y’all niggas be wanting too much dough, slow your roll
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| I don’t know how much I’ll loan ya, I’m not OVO
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| Woah, for those who try to live the rough life
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| Pistol through your clothes, slugs ripping through your cashmere
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| Give a nigga a buck 50 like I’m the cashier
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| Leave us left for the beef, resting in peace, you tough, right?
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| I’ll punch a nigga to Timbuktu
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| I got a drum, I’ll front a nigga ten bucks too
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| The outcome of playing big bank to little bank with me
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| Will prolly be a hundred thousand in ten bucks too
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| Uh, y’all lonely savage on the mollies acting like your life is violent
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| I’m catapulting bodies, catching 'em like a virus
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| Try to violate me, my ETA is a major scene
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| And it will be the day, it will be the GTA «wasted» screen
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| I’m still waiting on you
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| Yes, I’m
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| I’m still waiting on you
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| Yes, I’m
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| I’m still waiting on you
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| Yes, I’m
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| I’m still waiting on you, you, you
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| Taking it back just like that
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| I could tell by your dress code you extra hoe
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| I guess the rap game’s 'bout who flex the most
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| All these funny niggas with cloudy jewelry at these award shows
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| Was never rich, but dropping gems to poor souls
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| Tap a super model, she bound to need Morse code
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| Screaming with my head in her box, it ain’t a Vogue pose
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| God’s favorite, a public enemy, love my women in all flavors
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| If I made it, we all made it
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| 'Pac reincarnated, spitting on cam, fuck 'em
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| But I’m just me, I never claim to be the toughest
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| Ain’t gotta tell fake dope stories for you to love 'em
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| Blood rushing like when a Russian, is hugging a Kalashnikov
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| Busting, cousin used to tease me, call me crack baby
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| Tell 'em nothing changed, still dope, baby
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| Lately, I ain’t for the monkey shit
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| Shooters with banana clips, dumping 'em
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| Catching 'em slipping and peel 'em up at the family function and
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| Tell me who I’m up against, I run this shit
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| Nigga, the only thing could kill a legend is a double dish
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| Ride on 'em, me and Nickel Nine on-a ya
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| You know I snuck the thing in this bitch just like a foreigner
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| Pay no mind, it’s no biggy, but shit I’m warning ya
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| The way I ball gon' make a nigga cornier
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| Tell the coroners «come», baby, there’s been a murder
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| Never was underrated, nigga, I’m unheard of
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| You outta line like you ain’t got a lotta drive
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| Fuck around and clash with some niggas you idolized
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| Bottom line, I’m a man with a lot of pride
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| Got my mama’s eyes
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| From the ghetto, I’m traumatized, where I lie confined
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| As I watch my demons ménage screaming «I'm alive»
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| Life is a freak, I put faith is this lady marmalade
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| I just sign on the dotted line
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| It’s for rappers who look like they get sodomized, you outta time
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| Just like that, that, that, that
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| That
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| I’m poisonous pesticide, extra wide nostrils
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| Hostile infects aside, it’s the chainsaw massacre
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| Texas side in a Lexus fried doing donuts
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| As if I grabbed the coffee with it for breakfast
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| This shit I write it make you ball up your fist to fight and |
| Take off on a nigga, make him think he missed a flight
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| So you shouldn’t ignore me then, I can trade lines with Scorpion
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| Or pretend I’m not Kevorkian, just his dorky twin
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| And I ain’t got a lock when I’m sticking the door key in
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| Cause I got this in the bag like apartment 4B when
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| Jigga was a hustler who later wrote about it on the intro
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| To In My Lifetime, and you’s a customer
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| Not accustomed to how I’m on the cusp of greatness
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| And at the top of the food chain, I could hump the waitress and
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| How you do these dishes? |
| I’m truly vicious
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| I know you wish my life sucked and Death blew me kisses
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| But I’m extra closer to the Testarossa
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| The best, supposed to make you sick to your stomach till you possess an ulcer
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| You know my reputation, who in yo' camp wanna step to Jason?
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| A sick disease that cut into you like six degrees of separation
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| You’ll find it’s more lines in this rhyme than a brick of ki’s
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| That any crime unit would be quick to seize
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| From some high rollers who are thick as thieves
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| Who love the top dog and how he flick his fleas
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| And I could give you food for thought before fricassee’s
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| Or I can just rub you out like two crickets' knees
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| They rather see me chatching murder charges
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| 'stead of Jamaica at the SPA on my third massage
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| Living the life that’s in need of a narration
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| Give me the spotlight, you can keep the interrogation
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| At the sheriff station
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| And I swear if you tryna play the don
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| Think before you dive in murky waters with a megalodon |