| White carpet in my star face house
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| No one to gon dis on my scar faced spouse
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| My IV the twisted reefer and delivering that dough
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| To the front door like a piece of carrying her own
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| Always financially she don’t need me
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| She is just in love with a real nigger continuously weedin
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| At my under closed location my grow space is reading up on vintage V12 engines
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| and the greatest strains this season
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| and I grind for that very reason
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| the toxic air that I’m breathin a leave an average man weakened
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| watermarks still on the houses as I drive by
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| crack the soundproofs let a cloud out it
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| trill shit
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| Next time I vacate I’m bringing all my cars on a plane with me
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| Lor' see the same we gonna make it an' show our folks how to make them millions
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| Grapplin' hooks scaleing the building rap with no hooks I’m high hows you
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| feelin'
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| Captin hook wild’n in the ceiling though no stealin that shit heard I know the
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| feeling
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| these niggas a borrowin yo style like you wasn’t about to go do nuttin with it
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| That’s why I only kick it with real niggas like Dom Kennedy
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| and people I ain’t got to name cuz they was probly here gettin high wit me
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| If you don’t know where to put it at than I’ll ride wit it
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| There I try to lose you in the system for some weed in my city
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| In the heart ain’t no love or no pity
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| Looking for charity that dog don’t hunt don’t come in the woods with it
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| (Jet life) |