| Came in the game with a brain,
|
| not a chain
|
| Went against the grain,
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| left Maine on a plane
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| Sunny days came and I made it through the rain
|
| Proclaimed I would attain till the day they know my motherfucking-
|
| Came in the game with a brain, not a chain
|
| Sunny days came and I made it through the rain
|
| Went against the grain, left Maine on a plane
|
| Proclaimed I would attain till the day they know my motherfucking name!
|
| I was the broseph looking toasted like a pop-tart
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| Slumming in a Sox hat, who turned in a pop star
|
| Whoops! |
| Kept a couple thousand in the sock drawer
|
| Lit up like a cop car, smoked it all, bought more
|
| Look pal, I’ve been preposterously dank, ridiculously dope
|
| Maybe monstrously lame but meticulously flow, come and get a whiff of Spose
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| Smells like Wells, Maine, nights up in the cove
|
| I’m not a fighter, just a writer, put the lighter to the bowl!
|
| Always knew that it was do or die
|
| I’m doing work while you’re hanging like a suicide
|
| I just Googled the meaning of annuitize
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| Which stupid guys' rhymes you bumped in lieu of mine?!
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| Who am I? |
| Spose, motherfucker!
|
| P. Dank to the top like a fat kid to supper
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| So tell your brother’s mother, «Ain't shit changed»
|
| Same since the fame, still, sexy as John McCain
|
| Since I-
|
| Came in the game with a brain, not a chain
|
| Went against the grain, left Maine on a plane
|
| Sunny days came and I made it through the rain
|
| Proclaimed I would attain till the day they know my motherfucking-
|
| Came in the game with a brain, not a chain
|
| Sunny days came and I made it through the rain
|
| Went against the grain, left Maine on a plane
|
| Proclaimed I would attain till the day they know my motherfucking name!
|
| Fuck your Beamer, Benz, or Bentley
|
| We’ll be smashing in the fender, take a blender to your Fendi
|
| Yelling obscenities in the mezzanine, P. Dank
|
| Defenders of the peasantry, who surprised pleasantly
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| Guys who thought rap was crack, gats and Hennessy
|
| So yeah, Bethany, you can put your ass away
|
| Quick like Nestle, I acquired accolades
|
| Stripes like a referee, I earned 'em ‘cause I had to say
|
| What I really had instead of brags
|
| They’re yelling, «No you’re not, dude don’t lie!» |
| when I pass
|
| 7 million YouTube views in the bag
|
| Cop had me stopped just to get my autograph
|
| But they still don’t respect me, I’m as sexy as a scab
|
| You could grovel for the models, you could wallow for the cash
|
| Fuck that, learn facts till you need a bigger hat
|
| So, yeah, mane, we’re not the same
|
| If you’re unbejewled then tell your mom, «P. |
| Dank»
|
| So we-
|
| Came in the game with a brain, not a chain
|
| Went against the grain, left Maine on a plane
|
| Sunny days came and I made it through the rain
|
| Proclaimed I would attain till the day they know my motherfucking-
|
| Came in the game with a brain, not a chain
|
| Sunny days came and I made it through the rain
|
| Went against the grain, left Maine on a plane
|
| Proclaimed I would attain till the day they know my motherfucking name!
|
| You know it’s Groves, the flow’s so tight
|
| Shout-out to Spose, man, I owe him my life
|
| And I remember back when he told me, «Keep rappin' «Look at all that happened since «John Madden»
|
| In Salt Lake when he signed the deal
|
| Then I packed up my bags, got behind the wheel
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| Hear my tires squeal, away we go
|
| And on the way home, who’s on the radio?
|
| (Motherfucker, I’m awesome)
|
| Welcome to the music life
|
| With the Jet Blue flights and on the news at night
|
| When it comes to picking cards, gotta choose 'em right
|
| Because this music life is an amusement ride
|
| Ever since a kid, yo, the flows were mean
|
| Big dreams, whenever me and Spose convened
|
| We were plotting on our way to expose the scene
|
| And now we on the road, two shows a week
|
| I would sit in the studio and roll that weed
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| And write to a beat till I go to sleep
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| It’s the M to the A to the I-N-E
|
| More pine trees further than that I can see, yeah
|
| I’m that rap guy coming through your Cat-5
|
| P. Dank baby, triple clap when we slap five
|
| Remember back when rap was a pass time?
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| Now we pack heads every time we rap live
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| Late night writing down a song
|
| Got the proudest mom when the crowd respond
|
| And we trying to make it large, coming from a small town
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| P. Dank in the building until it falls down
|
| Bitch |