| Mr. Bennett never finished, you can’t miss a call
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| Me and Supa Supa sold out SOB’s, New York
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| Went from Maggie’s Palace sellin' reggie out the door
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| Now I’m thinkin' bigger, motion pictures, foreign cars
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| Chloe, Jordan, photo texting wasn’t here before
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| Now I hit withdraw, when I hit the mall
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| Homies from the land poppin' Xans, got withdrawals
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| Clasp my hands in advance 'cause they just can’t get off
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| I’ve been given second chances
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| That shit like my motivation
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| Just found out I’m sick, I got no time for patience
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| Tired of waitin'
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| I know destinations, I don’t know locations, I know detonation
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| Call up Supa, he gon' cook the bacon
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| Run up on me in the ‘preme and I might kill an ape
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| And still rock Bape and still rep gang
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| And still throw signs while my niggas do the same
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| Cause the phony shit contagious so I let my phone ring
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| I don’t like to conversate for conversation’s sake
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| No more girls who stay up late
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| Just baby girl and me
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| Got real sisters outside
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| Why lie when my life’s neon lights?
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| Real sisters down to ride, and they gon' ride tonight
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| She put some bad-bad magic on me
|
| Girl, you throw that bad-bad magic at me
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| When I’m just tryna stack til a nigga can’t see
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| Maybe break your back til the nigga can’t breathe
|
| She put some bad-bad magic on me
|
| Girl, you throw that bad-bad magic at me
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| When I’m just tryna stack 'til a nigga can’t see
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| Or maybe break your back 'til the nigga can’t breathe
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| I got held down in a spot over some confrontations
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| No more conversations, if you wanna link then hit my agent
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| No more weed, I put that down with all my friends that wouldn’t make it
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| All my friends is killers and robbers, some of them couldn’t shake it
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| I relate with shawties, Aretha Franklin and dinner platin'
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| Hispanic girls with attitudes be them great debaters
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| My work’s a basket, my flow fantastic, this shit’s a classic
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| I bumped the classics that beat the masses
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| Then preached to masses
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| I used to roast over roaches until they burned to ashes
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| And now I’m so far from me, I feel like an open casket
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| They want the new Taylor Bennett, my posts is post-traumatic
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| My flow keep goin', you’re cul-de-sac and we’ll blow ya backward
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| My clique assassins we’re always packin' and never lackin'
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| I called up Supa for magic, Garçon, you gotta have it
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| You’re bottle cappin', I’m model lappin' with chicks that’s athletes
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| My reach Jurassic, my shoes ain’t matchin', they Easter baskets
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| I got some twins with me, Nina, Marta, and that’s the backup
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| Some real shawties tell lil' shawties to put some racks up
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| My money longer, ain’t done evolvin'
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| This shit’s a classic
|
| My money longer, ain’t done evolvin'
|
| This shit’s a classic
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| Tsk, tired of niggas talkin' 'bout «this is the way you gotta do it»
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| And you go to respect this type of person
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| And you got to listen to that type of person
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| Fuck all of that shit (Uh)
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| I’m doing it the way I wanna do it
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| Look, I’m (Lil' Boat!) tired of these niggas hatin', and tired of promoters
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| flakin'
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| So pay me in pre-advance
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| And if I forget them, book again (Check)
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| I’m up, up and away
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| And I’m so loved by the white people
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| That they could approach me in the back of a dark alley with a black hoodie
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| (True)
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| It’s as real as it gets (True)
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| It’s as strong as a pit’s bit, I mean pit’s bite
|
| When she walk around in her black tights
|
| Made my jeans tighter
|
| Made my jeans tighter around the crotch area
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| It’s gettin' scary to old heads
|
| 'Cause Hip-Hop changing each and every day
|
| And I’m the nigga pickin' out the clothes
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| I used to sip the fours and I used to fuck every hoe (True)
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| I still fuck every hoe (True)
|
| I used to plot on the globe (True)
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| I used to be called a joke (Well), I still get called a joke (Fuck 'em)
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| But I’m so rich that my ears they only hear ching-ching
|
| My eyes see bling-bling
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| And everything in between is out the seams all the time (Yeah)
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| We whoop ass, and then we send a get well card
|
| Then we swipe our black cards
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| And we don’t have backyards (Lil Boat) 'cause we stay on top floors
|
| And we get maids to wipe up all of our marble floors
|
| And we fuck five star, top model class whores
|
| And we still teens, but nigga, we don’t do chores
|
| Run up on me in the ‘preme and I might kill an ape
|
| And still rock Bape and still rep gang
|
| And still throw signs while my niggas do the same
|
| Cause the phony shit contagious so I let my phone ring
|
| I don’t like to conversate for conversation’s sake
|
| No more girls who stay up late
|
| Just baby girl and me
|
| Got real sisters outside
|
| Why lie when my life’s neon lights?
|
| Real sisters down to ride, and they gon' ride tonight
|
| She put some bad-bad magic on me
|
| Girl, you throw that bad-bad magic at me
|
| When I’m just tryna stack til a nigga can’t see
|
| Maybe break your back til the nigga can’t breathe
|
| She put some bad-bad magic on me
|
| Girl, you throw that bad-bad magic at me
|
| When I’m just tryna stack 'til a nigga can’t see
|
| Or maybe break your back 'til the nigga can’t breathe |