| I lay my gun fine, ideas be as bright as the sunshine
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| Shook the rap game with just one line
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| When me and my niggaz combine, all day, you know what?
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| Sometimes, I run with mad niggaz who done time
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| Hit you with eight, from one nine, now you showin the vein
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| My shells is like information, go in your brain
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| Holdin my slug, before you squeeze em show em the love
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| Burn your fingertips so throw em a glove, understand me
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| Before my album drop, cop the Grammy, uncanny
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| Bought my first Role' from Manny
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| Dirty burners my crew never hand me, nigga we family
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| You not, get shot, get caught slippin like Dexter Manley
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| with at least ten lead, spray right, paint your skin red
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| Damn we, all the shit you can’t be
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| We big time, you small time, real small like how an ant be
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| Marcy, bust a shot for Metcalf, Tilo and Danny
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| Peace to the Bureils, Cut Wop and Stanley
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| Boom Moet and bow, my whole set is wild
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| Past threats, frontin flash singles and that’s bent
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| Fuck a bitch, you know the drill
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| Cut a chick or a suck a dick
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| Jigga, what the fuck?
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| As a youth explosively, clappin off the roof
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| Shootin guard like Kobe, raised up slay smears and bo’e
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| Back then, Gil was my codiene, Spanish Jose
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| showed me how to get the money niggaz owed me
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| Fast forward, no kids, six cars and three Role’s
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| Two cribs, trips to Cuba, sippin on Uba
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| Got rap in a stupor, first to clap your group up
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| from the Range with the ski rack, or six with the Ruger
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| Shit, I light the motherfuckin soundproof booth up
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| New shit, why’all say the same shit like you’re looped up
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| Your rap’s all lazy, Jigga the Black Scorcese
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| What your album lack is more Jay-Z
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| Code name: Jay-hovah, all praise me
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| Why’all don’t paint pictures, why’all all trace me
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| You’ve yet to see the day when my squad be done
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| I represent that shit nigga, Marcy son, what? |