| Ths is CoKayn
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| Tru Hitz
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| I need big forests, money trees
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| Foreign things
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| I bow down, pray to God
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| Won’t answer me
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| Made a way for a life, that don’t mean anything
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| Down the bottles, so I do not recall anything
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| Big forests, money trees
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| Foreign things
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| I bow down, pray to God
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| Won’t answer me
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| Made a way for a life, that don’t mean anything
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| Down the bottles, so I do not recall anything
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| The youngins love me for the Hermes
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| These old niggas hating in the worst way
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| 'Cause I am both Crispy Fresh and Throwback Thursday
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| Hating from a distance but switch position in person
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| Ey who birthed them?
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| Ya’ll niggas preemie immature
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| I’m pre-Yachty, killing shows
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| That’s why I’m leaving, see the tour
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| Couple seasons in a row
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| No seasoning on my sole
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| It’s Hibachi shrimp and chicken outta Seoul
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| You start the tripping, lift the bitch outta your soul
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| Niggas thought they had a chick until they seen the insta-stories
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| The streets are vicious they take chicken out your bowl
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| She gon' miss him for a trip
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| To somewhere distant on the globe
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| And that’s all she wrote
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| But nowhere near the level of what Stogie told
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| I planted the seeds for trees, but only petals grow
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| I guess when they get dried up
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| They’ll say I smoked them, though
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| I need big forests, money trees
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| Foreign things
|
| I bow down, pray to God
|
| Won’t answer me
|
| Made a way for a life, that don’t mean anything
|
| Down the bottles, so I do not recall anything
|
| Big forests, money trees
|
| Foreign things
|
| I bow down, pray to God
|
| Won’t answer me
|
| Made a way for a life, that don’t mean anything
|
| Down the bottles, so I do not recall anything
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| I’m on my knees, sending prayers
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| Hoping God can hear me
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| And save me from myself
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| And everything I’m not sincerely
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| And keep the market friendly
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| Critics lie, they jot with envy
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| For lousy retweets and seem deep
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| These cups are plenty
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| And they nod for many
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| Hate to applaud shit
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| Crabs in the bucket mind
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| Souls in a mosh pit
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| They quick to celebrate everything that you flawed with
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| Only make you a legend when you stiff in a coffin
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| It’s nonsense
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| Wanna rock the boat but can’t stay afloat
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| They can’t swim where we swim
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| At shark infested coasts
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| Drowning by the thousands
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| This city is a pressure dome
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| We went from peasants to kings
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| We know the best of both
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| So I ain’t sweating those
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| Little shots ain’t getting close
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| Balenciaga step on toes
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| All this Prada press your souls
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| I’m ready to pay the price
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| This shit was hefty
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| I’m a beast in these streets
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| Cold hearted, Africa’s Yeti
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| I need big forests, money trees
|
| Foreign things
|
| I bow down, pray to God
|
| Won’t answer me
|
| Made a way for a life, that don’t mean anything
|
| Down the bottles, so I do not recall anything
|
| Big forests, money trees
|
| Foreign things
|
| I bow down, pray to God
|
| Won’t answer me
|
| Made a way for a life, that don’t mean anything
|
| Down the bottles, so I do not recall anything
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| I should channel my Steve Biko
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| 'Cause if I mic what I like
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| I might free a few
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| I had dreams so big, they had dreams too
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| Broke boy but not to these records
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| I’m Steve Segal
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| Their lives are pretentious
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| Mine’s bleek but I might fly out to Memphis
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| You an apprentice to your own shit
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| It’s senseless
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| It’s so sad that your music is none of your business
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| What a wow
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| I’m probably the reason why these kids walking around
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| Screaming «What a life»
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| I made stencils, they just spray shit
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| I got the six, might get a Drake on my next shit
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| Pretty flower, how you’ve grown
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| I wonder if you’d’a rose if I ain’t dropped these flows
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| You started from the bottom, that’s fresh
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| But we know before you got here
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| You was on a young quest |