| If the grass is greener on the other side
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| Than why in the hell did you choose to come here? |
| (Do tell)
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| I am not a weakling like these other guys
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| I am not frail so just to be clear (You'll fail)
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| Your port folio is foliage in autum
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| Pretty for a few weeks until it hit bottom
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| Fetch my leaf blower, you might con most
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| With what you compose but it’s mostly compost
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| Plant foot in your ass like I punt for a team
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| You bums are all thumbs but none of them green
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| In the jungle you king? |
| You’re lying, a meer dande
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| A Stan of Stan because I’m after Stanleys
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| Build and destroy when I find fertile ground
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| Aerate dirty tracks right before I put it down
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| Clowns spreading their manure as soon as they get in town
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| But I got fresh shit on my own, move along man
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| (Aww shit)
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| Come on, son
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| (Aww shit)
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| Really?
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| (Aww shit)
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| You serious?
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| (Aww shit)
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| This nigga
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| Listen
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| Better curb your dog
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| No mics just Vics when they carry 'em off
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| Need to respect my property 'fore I off your ass
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| You ain’t too high to read the sign, «Keep off the grass»
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| Plow through shrubs Bogardin' my yard
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| And you wack ass crab grass pardon the God
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| Dig this, I’m underground 'til I’m top soil
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| Rake green with my team 'til our plot foiled
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| I don’t throw dirt when the plan’s to clean up
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| Hard labor got me lookin' like I ran through the sprinklers
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| This is my turf and I’m the landscaper
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| But they don’t want to give me work because I demand paper
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| Hey, could be baggin' leaves but I hustle my art best
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| Plantin' seeds of wealth so we’ll be eatin' by harvest
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| No doubt in droughts I will sprout regardless
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| Without handouts or progress from congress
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| They all pest, stop buggin'
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| Another long day now it’s back to the shed
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| So I can put the tools away and just relax in the bed
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| But the Earth’s secret garden is in need of tendin'
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| She leaves to freshen up and give her hedges a trimmin'
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| In a day filled with more lows than highs
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| She’s miracle grow, 'round her I’m known to rise
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| Like the baking sun when the AM come
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| We make way for fun, a little wake and stake
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| You on the other hand can’t get a break as of late
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| Messing with rusty hoes and burning bush
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| Better mind your own lawn for you start the hatin'
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| Cause it’s clearly in need of some cultivatin'
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| You ain’t got enough skill to be playing the field son
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| No balls, in fact you lack the will son
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| A cut above the rest, I’m the lawnmower man
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| So before you try to bomb on my land think again chump |