| Top shotta, boy
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| Ya feel me?
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| Top shotta, boy
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| Sippin' this liquor off the 8th floor balcony
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| Thinkin' how I made the whole world bounce for me
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| I had to bubble on the low and blow silently
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| No longer wanna be the one to live violently
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| Two baby mamas, two baby’s, that’s four mouth’s to feed
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| A hundred friends but none of em looking out for me
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| Got tax issues, got debts, and got accountant fees
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| But I just wanna heal my pain with this cloud of tree
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| Is it all in my mind, or am I paranoid
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| Is this karma in the air, one I can’t avoid
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| Can I, lord?
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| Ask you to gimme the strength to not lust for anything I can’t afford
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| I don’t need no awards or nothing immature
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| I was more thinking less nightmare
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| And mental wars
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| Thinking how my Aunt Tammy died last month
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| Got me smoking every el like it’s my last blunt
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| I keep it humble don’t chill with people that’s gassed up
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| Some of my friends rich, some of them on they last buck
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| How could I stop showing you love cuz you had bad luck
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| Anybody could vouch for me—any hood I get mad love
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| The fusillade get sprayed, never delayed
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| I’m just coming for a blaze, every time I blaze
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| Take a minute just to look back in the days
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| As I reminisce the maze
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| But I’m still a caged rat, that’s a staged fact
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| And you should page 8 that
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| Trying to get the papers
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| Caught up, up on the vapors
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| Hiatus to my haters
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| The pupil’s dilators
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| See 'em how they traitors
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| And then they rate us greatest and then they slave us
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| And enslave us in and engrave in our mind
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| That we can’t be the greatest
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| «We wasted too much time»
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| Taking time for granted
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| The food of life I planted
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| I pomegranate—last man repping for the planet
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| I guess they granted
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| All my African Bambaataa patois
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| Pot of gold, I make that Harry Potter «poof»
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| You rappers not a sun;
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| You not hotter
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| Pick up like papa to the realest top shotta
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| Top shotta, boy |