| Raised in Flatbush, born in Brooklyn
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| The Beast Coast with us, catch ghost when flow stutters
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| Like cobras, soul lift, I strode the block no chauffeur
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| Coast to coast the same shit, I’m that focused
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| Hold up, Brooklyn they say fronto that’s how we roll up
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| Fuck you dumbos tryna blunt smoke with no funds
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| Throw on aroma, sour diesel, higher than my ego
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| She know, hold a bitch closer than my pesos, you lay ho
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| Bank rolls be my occupation for the moment
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| Elevated, overthrow the government, you know we on it
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| Higher minds, fire burning, I don’t care what you concern with LSD
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| On the DV, check the KD floating
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| I know you peep the steez, golden like I’m chosen
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| Js leave 'em Z way before the Barclay center open
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| You hoping, I crash this plane, never man
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| I’m in the legendary lane, hitting Jane like Tarzan
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| Pick it up where my brother left it off
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| Purple drunk, sour diesel be the fuel for all my Brooklyn lords
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| (Brooklyn lords, theres no control, you niggas lame, I’m going hard)
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| Living large, watch out for coppers, you know they makin' noise
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| Flatbush grown, raised around shottas
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| We Rastafari Boys, Jah Jah knows, been out the matrix since like a snotty nose
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| Switching flows like a Brooklyn nigga only supposed to though
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| I count my pesos, I let my brain grow
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| Watch out for my angels, cuz they stealin' my halo, know they hate though
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| It’s cause we clean on the block, living dreams on the clock
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| Keep the weed 'round my team, so we lean in the spot
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| The Beast Coast we better than most folks
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| And no hope for niggas that be testing our brain growth, you get smoked
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| Like my herbal shuttles, run to be the sun child
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| Can’t walk a mile in my shoes cause we run that Brookline
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| You get it? |
| We bringing change, motherfuck your gain fame
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| I don’t need your damn approval, gotta claim my name
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| You niggas fucking shooters, we the matches of this game
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| So take a seat nigga, and let a God teach nigga
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| Don’t wanna pro preach with you, but watch out for soul killers
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| Elevate your mind, and don’t listen to no sinners
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| No sinners, no friend of me
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| Spray em, they all enemies, sight
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| I grip your life, don’t get the grip, just fist fight
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| Knuckle up, fuck happen' and scrappin'
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| Niggas ain’t tough enough for the bust a slug
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| Then show a brother love, that’s why you can’t fuck with us
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| Ah, I remember them hoop dreams
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| Thought I was the one like high king
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| Jump shot me, 'til a nigga hit a pot steam
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| Then a nigga drop rock like a fiend
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| That two train, till the last stop that man block
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| Man shots, 10 pun the way to the pop-pop what the blood clot?
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| (Hey, Tan Boys, World’s Fair, Zombies, Pro Era, A$AP
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| New York, New York, that’s where it’s at, where it’s at)
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| We the new New York, better protect your neck
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| When you’re looking at the god, take another step back
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| Cause we soaring, while niggas just boring, see me touring
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| A nigga been chosen to elevate most men, 'til we golden
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| And count my cheddar, that’s of course
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| Cause my bitch she wants a horse
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| But I mind just say for fuck it and go cop that shit call Porsche
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| My mama want a crib, I said my motherfucker called
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| You raised a fuckin' demon child, really paid the cost
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| The cause is paid, 'til we said squeeze lemonades
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| Flatbush, Brooklyn, where the fuck I’m gonna stay?
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| And I be chillin' with my villains climbin' on the fuckin millions
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| And blowin on the loud 'til a nigga touch the ceiling, uh huh
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| That’s the end of the song, and nigga know me can do no wrong
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| Bodying tracks, your bitch in the back of the Cadillac, now you know all this
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| shit |