| Mama told me she go today for them niggas
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| But my grandmother told me that she would pray for them niggas
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| They just young, black and ignorant, lusting over models and them Benjamins
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| Got the game twisted like (Like what?) Licorice
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| When I was rocking lottos, moving packs up out McDonalds
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| She was looking for me, pulled up in that old El Dorado
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| I was running around with chicks, chasing new black wheels
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| Why would I do that still? |
| That’s what got 2Pac killed
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| But I use that steel, cause I will do that deal
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| Screw the muzzle in potatoes of that new Mac Mill
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| What did I learn? |
| Nothing, my pops smoking sherm, bluffin'
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| Beating on my moms like her head was a percussion
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| Tap tap, my .45 knocking on your window
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| She said it would be days like this, Pharrell, drop the instrumental
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| (Yessir)
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| I know I must go
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| And I don’t know my way
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| Still somehow I know I’ll end up
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| Where we all came from (From my mama’s womb)
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| I know I must go
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| And I don’t know my way
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| Still somehow I know I’ll end up
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| Where we all came from (From my mama’s womb)
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| I know
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| Swisher, crack a fifth up, Hennessy pouring like Niagara Falls
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| Used to watch Magic, he showed me how to ball
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| Moms working late night, to get our plate right
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| Had some older brothers, all we did was smoke and play fight
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| Wish I could go back to them days cause streets don’t play right
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| Some niggas hard, other niggas was the Kid N Play type
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| But that ain’t stop me pretending I was Apollo from Rocky
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| Working on my dip-game, now nobody wanna box me
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| Pick and choose, stick and move
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| So many dudes ended up with sleeping bags on late-night news
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| But not my mama’s son, known around the hood for serving customers
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| She yapping in my ear, but it’s louder than the muffler
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| But I didn’t listen to, wish I would’ve trusted her
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| Wish I had a shovel, be digging both of my brothers up
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| Like, «Here hug em, ma, one last time»
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| Put a chain on both of them niggas, they get one last shine
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| I know I must go
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| And I don’t know my way
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| Still somehow I know I’ll end up
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| Where we all came from (From my mama’s womb)
|
| I know I must go
|
| And I don’t know my way
|
| Still somehow I know I’ll end up
|
| Where we all came from (From my mama’s womb)
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| I know
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| Put your Glock down, recognize a king cause it’s my town
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| Word to my mother, you can throw up your rock now
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| Got off the beef shit cause I ain’t tryna see my mama in all-black
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| Right there, crying over hard facts
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| Now she gotta turn in all her cars and get her house back, never!
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| She carried me for 9 months, so she can have whatever
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| Clever, she taught me how to shoot Berettas
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| Told me that I’d be a king, so R.I.P. |
| to Coretta
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| If you don’t understand that, then refer to my letter
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| While I sprinkle niggas with platinum from my last album
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| Got the check, so I signed on the X like Malcolm
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| Riding through the hood, you hating niggas like «How come
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| That niggas Game got it? |
| Heard he selling talcum»
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| Either way, playboy, check it, this is the outcome
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| You might not like it, but my mama psychic
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| Why you niggas twisted like the top of a Sidekick? |
| (Played out)
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| I know I must go
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| And I don’t know my way
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| Still somehow I know I’ll end up
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| Where we all came from (From my mama’s womb)
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| I know I must go
|
| And I don’t know my way
|
| Still somehow I know I’ll end up
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| Where we all came from (From my mama’s womb)
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| I know |