| You know I loved you right
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| I never, I never knew girl, you see
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| You know the pain right, you can feel my pain right?
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| Uh, to the gateway, now check it out, yo
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| Ooh, I loved you so
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| But why I loved you, I’ll never know
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| Ooh, the pain you put me through
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| You know you’ve killed, now I lust for you
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| (Cardan)
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| Now since I’ve came in the game, money and fame, I love it
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| But whoever thought I’d wake up one mornin with no budget
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| It’s Cardi the golden kid with that older shit
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| I live, learn, learn to live, the older I get
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| And I remember Thursdays, hungry Thursdays
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| 'Bout sixteen, seventee, um, Murphy age
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| But this rap game I love it, it’s like I’m married to it
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| I proposed on Clue?, she said I’d be happy to do it
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| Gave her a kiss, mmmwwhha, she gave me fifty G’s
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| Silly Cardi I spent it, now Cardi on his knees
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| Now I’m livin reality, a Biggie Smalls theme
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| Askin for one more chance to show her what I really mean
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| She said, you done seen a lotta things baby bro'
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| Even best friends turned and take out videos
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| I got with the 'tics, EI, still no deal |
| 'Til Sugar said «chill baby, everything is Fo' Reel»
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| (Ali — talking through chorus)
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| Yeah, loved y’all punk ass nigga, showed y’all love
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| Never know that shit
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| How the fuck you gon' drop a group, and the got the number one shit on the
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| Radio?
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| Dumb ass nigga, look at us now, Fo' Reel nigga, Fo' Reel
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| (Kyjuan)
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| Nineteen-ninety-six! |
| (hurry up, sign right here), let’s sign these papers
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| So we can get these papers and give these hoes the vapors
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| Double-dumb entertainment dropped «Gimme What You Got»
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| Off top, 'tics hot, even sent you a shot (Double-dumb nine sevennnnnnnn!)
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| Didn’t want Nelly on it, said his verse didn’t fit
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| Some ol' seperatin shit, ten percent ass bitch
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| Whole town love us, no one is above us
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| Treated you, no talent, knowin niggas like brothas
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| No street team, no promotion
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| Just woof tickets, raw fuckin, no lotion
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| One year later you decide to drop an EP
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| At the same time drop us, that confuse me
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| So like a bastard child, we on our own
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| Put out and left alone, y’all won’t answer the phone
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| It took a little time, but we got it ourself |
| Five million records later, now y’all askin for wealth
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| (One, two, three, four, five), nigga please
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| (Murphy Lee — talking during chorus)
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| You know what I’m sayin, life is crazy, you know what I’m sayin
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| You got choices in life
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| But bro' when you make 'em, you gotta make 'em and make 'em right
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| And if you ain’t makin 'em right it’s just crazy
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| You ain’t got nobody else to blame, nobody but yourself
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| You know what I’m sayin, mad truth to that
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| (Murphy Lee)
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| Let me pretend that I’m a lawyer and explain the situation
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| Facin three-to-one five across state, humiliation
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| St. Louis set it off, phone calls was long distance
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| (Ay yo, it’s four birdies in Houston), c’mon, send some one to get 'em
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| Who would do it for a grand?
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| Eighteen, only thing on our mind was that killer money
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| From Missouri to the T-E-X, A-S
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| Two cats strapped it tight, right up under her chest
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| One-way trip on Southwest but she didn’t make it that far
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| Metal detectors went bizarre, one-way trip to the car
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| Your honor, she got a baby that’ll drive my granny crazy |
| A long distance lawyer that keep on tellin us «maybe»
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| And we all raise her baby, takin curr (care) of her daily
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| This law shit is crazy, never cease to amaze me
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| It’s different from the eighties, ninety-five to lately
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| They givin out time like dogs givin out rabies
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| (Free City) |