| Yeah, uh
|
| Wuh
|
| Wuh-wuh-wuh-wuh-wuh
|
| Used to be a dreamer
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| Now I’m just a schemer
|
| Uh
|
| Wuh-wuh-wuh
|
| Zone out
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| Zone out
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| Stoned out
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| I really miss grandma, she baked the best cakes
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| Uncle God schooled me on rap, he had the fresh tapes
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| First date broke my heart, I was just eight
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| Old God told me from start, «Never trust snakes»
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| I had the flat-top fade, Smoke had the most waves
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| Cuz pops died in the tub, that was the dope fade
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| That cocaine had us thinkin' we could be all paid
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| We all seen, done things, I won’t say no names
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| To whom it may concern, remain anonymous
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| The first dollar I earned was some dishonest shit
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| I was way too young to even know better
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| Made mad friends and my friend lonely as 'Lo sweater
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| Jyeah, my right hand man had name brand kicks
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| My shits? |
| Thom McAn
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| Blow a kiss from my Aunt Janette to Barbara Ann
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| To advance, feed fam', and get rich, the Father’s plan
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| Remember teeskeet from Lexington with the three-piece suits?
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| Before any Timberland, I wore army boots, uh
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| My brother David was a drill sergeant
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| So those fatigues was part of my life, for real, private
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| I had a cousin named Fitzgerald from Tennessee
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| His father, my Uncle Edwin, influenced me
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| You know my daddy was a drummer but his daddy was a runner
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| He was puttin' up his numbers
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| Peace to Bay Mayo, R-I-P to Matteo
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| Love my nigga Maino, I.G., and Aito
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| Salute my Harlem connect
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| My nigga Billy, mob style, respect
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| Ayo, police might try and corner you
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| Don’t take 7th ave, take 8th avenue
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| I’m glad to see all that I did
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| I say that to say, «You gotta love the life you live»
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| God bless Nana and her son Beau and Uncle Ary
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| Any drug found in the house, dawg, I’m sorry
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| I always was a knucklehead, sellin' jums, running with duffel-heads
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| Who always wanted bread, yup, some are dead
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| 'Member Pumas and lottos, staircase rhymes?
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| McDonalds, the hood cartels, me and my Pablos?
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| Wash somethin', you frontin'?
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| Now we here we come, movin' like them spranglers with thirty-eights
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| Pull-out, we owe you one
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| Go, son, the roof was the batcave
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| A black slave, now I’m just addicted to rap
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| Holdin' the MAC, crazy it’s us, the dust boys
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| Who would ever think we touch toys?
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| Strictly just robbin' niggas and fuck choices
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| Aunt Priscilla and Lo, damn, I miss y’all
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| As a dumb youngin' so glad I never dissed y’all
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| But I was taught respect
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| The melders’ll throw your ass in check
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| Make the wrong move and get wet, BLAOW!
|
| Yuh, uh
|
| Wuh
|
| Wuh-wuh-wuh-wuh-wuh
|
| Used to be a dreamer
|
| Now I’m just a schemer
|
| Uh
|
| Wuh-wuh-wuh
|
| Wuh
|
| Used to a breadm
|
| Now I’m just a scheme
|
| Wuh
|
| Wuh |