| Just shine your light on the world
|
| So shine your light on the world
|
| No matter anywhere you go, keep
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| Shining your light on the world
|
| Don’t let the money make you thirsty
|
| Don’t even let it be your goal
|
| Just let it come and keep on working
|
| And shine your light on them hoes
|
| Cause I’m the hardest nigga out here
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| I’d rather die than live a life of fear
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| I know I got to be down here
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| To shine my light on them hoes
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| Hardest nigga out here
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| I’d rather starve than live a life of fear
|
| I feel like God sent me down here
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| To shine my light on them hoes
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| Lost in the world when me and my girlfriend meet, bless you
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| You know they say «if you fucked her and she didn’t cum
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| And you came, then she fucked you»
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| We squeeze first, nigga these ain’t rebuttals
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| These street sweepers, we dump til he jump brooms
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| Like these nuptials, in the D where dreams come true
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| This is the the story of a man who’s trying to break his doubts
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| Down like his cases count
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| Obsessive compulsive counting dough
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| Making sure all the numbers on the inside
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| And all the faces out
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| Lawyers on retainers like they braces out
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| Say my name wrong, I make you taste your mouth
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| Money come, money go
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| Get it but don’t splurge it
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| Your boy’s greed and war’s needs
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| Got their own purpose
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| There’s more than four speeds on that Porsche Turbo
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| It’s sitting on four G’s like my phone service
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| I’m out here trapping, but this here’s sincere rapping
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| Dear assassin, you can’t kill a signed and sealed classic
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| Gazelles and Bill Blasses, snake skin troops
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| Reptile enemies X’d out is what make men true
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| I’m blacking just like Jamaicans do
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| I’m running long side your coupe
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| Tapping guns upon your Wrathe window
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| Like Ox in Belly, got more Glocks and cellies
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| Than New Yorks got blocks and delis
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| Cops and boxes of pirellis, their doors' ajar
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| Exposing my Maserati’s guts
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| And that’s what got you jelly
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| The car I’m driving got a pot belly
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| I’m out here trapping
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| With this here sincere rapping
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| I’ve been shooting straight
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| Since two inch tape
|
| This is for real classic
|
| And getting money was never part of my goals
|
| It just came along with me shining my light on them hoes
|
| I’ve been out here trapping
|
| With this here sincere rap
|
| For fifteen years, I ain’t leaving here without a classic
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| I get money, get money money dough
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| All I came to do is shine my light on them hoes
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| Hip-hop is my house; |
| watch these philosophies win
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| Around artists I stand out like I locked my keys in
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| I forgot my goal at twenty-three was make a classic
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| Walk away like Tiger with my nine iron then take the master’s
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| They say that you get what you ask for
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| Well, I asked to be left alone with my pen, pad and passport
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| This ain’t no rags to rich brag shit
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| In fact, it’s more close to being a rich to rags story
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| The fabric I’m cut from’s the most genuine article mankind offers
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| I’m like an underground landmine talking
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| For Storch, Hammer & Antoine Walker
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| And your boy’s a tampon
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| In every store I’m anti-corporate
|
| Highest exalted, call me commercial? |
| I’m highly insulted
|
| This is Royce da 5'9″, mind body and soul shit
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| All I have on this fucking globe is my shotty and flow
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| I’d rather let the coroner outline my body in chalk
|
| Than let the fans order me 'round the clock and buy me in bulk
|
| I’m out here trapping
|
| With this here sincere rapping
|
| I’ve been shooting straight
|
| Since two inch tape
|
| This is for real classic
|
| And getting money was never part of my goals
|
| It just came along with me shining my light on them hoes
|
| I’ve been out here trapping
|
| With this here sincere rap
|
| For fifteen years, I ain’t leaving here without a classic
|
| I get money, get money money dough
|
| All I came to do is shine my light on them hoes
|
| We move in silence, y’all ain’t hearing us coming
|
| I was sent by God to provide that imperial sonnage
|
| Ya’ll assembly line of rhymers really don’t want it
|
| I’ll eat you for breakfast, one by one I got ya’ll serial numbers
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| I’m about to send a tweet out to my nigga Styles
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| Tell him he got the juice now
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| Call my OG Scarface, talk some boxing with him
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| Perhaps these new clowns, politic perhaps
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| About a new him and Royce track |
| I’m feeling like D to the O to the C
|
| When he got his voice back
|
| Ha, I’m feeling like Cube in a fresh El Camino
|
| Rolling key low g rolling through Detroit’s back
|
| Streets waving to all my people
|
| I’m feeling more at home than Reese Taylor
|
| This are what memories are made of
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| I remember each grudge, each favor
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| Each lie, each judge, each bailiff
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| Each job, cheap labor
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| Each neighbor, each caper
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| Each Mosque, each Church
|
| Each pastor, pew, and casket
|
| Each future bastard double dutching through the madness, singing:
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| Just shine your light on the world
|
| So shine your light on the world
|
| No matter anywhere you go, kid
|
| Shining your light on the world
|
| Don’t let the money make you thirsty
|
| Don’t even let it be your goal
|
| Just let it come and keep on working
|
| And shine your light on the hoes
|
| Cause I’m the hardest nigga out here
|
| I’d rather die than live a life of fear
|
| I know I got to be down here
|
| To shine my light on them hoes
|
| Hardest nigga out here
|
| I’d rather starve than live a life of fear
|
| I feel like God sent me down here
|
| To shine my light on them hoes |