| Back back way back I used to fret at my hun,
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| Who’d play me for one with more pay
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| Still it was funny cos she’d paid no mind
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| As jerks lurk constantly
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| And my insecurity turned into maturity
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| As the years pass I find it hard to be monogomous
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| So do other brothers overseas (still synonomous)
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| Catch crazy laughs when I’m with female company
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| Something I must stop *^*^*^*^*^*^* step in front of me
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| So in public places I am often found in my trunk
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| Reaching for Gatts and smack goes this funk
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| Because I have the right to rip
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| And in spite of the few protests progress and I might smite ya
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| Once your gone your fronts they got no future
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| I know this and also notice advances
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| I think the papers they slip to my dip
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| With numeros and you sooneros think of jelly
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| Cos numbers left in the gutter lead to holy telies
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| So we see whos speak neat and we see whos free
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| The difference is gasoline
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| You slippin while I’m skin-dippin
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| Grips and grips of chumps far away |