| I’m just tryin' to find me, yeah
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| I’m just tryin' to find me (x3)
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| I’m just tryin' to find me, yeah
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| You lookin' just like yo
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| Daddy, that’s what my momma told me
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| Hated every last single one of my homies
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| Did the very best she could to try to control me
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| From sending me to Granny’s and threaten to call the police
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| Now what’s a mother to do
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| When she’s fed up
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| She used to trip when her son didn’t make his bed up
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| Daddy ain’t around and the pressure won’t let up
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| Same ghetto story
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| I’m numb to the head rush
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| At school I never said much
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| Too busy writing dope lines
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| They though I was gay
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| Cus I wouldn’t give them girls time
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| And dudes want to fight me over girls
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| I’m on they girls, mine
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| All this love that I’m gettin' all cus I wrote rhymes
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| If this is high school,
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| I know college sucks
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| I’d rather hang with thugs
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| And toss 40 bottles up
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| We moved out the hood
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| But the hood followed us
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| And me and baby bruh kept fallin' in and out of touch
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| At night momma cried
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| Put her feelings aside
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| Prayed for the safety of her son
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| Hoping there’s a safety on the gun
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| Cus her son is attracted to the wrong ones in the slums
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| Hoping that he find what he looking for
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| Find that reciprocal
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| Love that he lookin' fo'
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| And pray to God give him mo'
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| Yeah, and pray to god give him mo'
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| Cus right now, he just wanna be found
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| I’m just tryin' to find me
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| Run from my past
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| It keeps on chasing me down
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| But I leave it behind me
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| Come out of hiding
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| Put it all on the line
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| See, I’m just tryin' to be found
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| When I was young me and my momma had beef
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| Cus all I did was kick flows
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| And hang around young G’s
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| Listenin' to beats
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| Runnin' studio times sometimes
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| But not enough to keep a child from doin' crime
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| So my cousin Rashad gave me a little job
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| Sellin' crack to my neighbors, smokin' that good pine
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| But watch out for them haters
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| Cus when you on top
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| They wanna see you collapse
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| Just like a bad stock
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| Here come the cops
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| All I ever wanted in life was a deal
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| But with a hole in my heart
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| I’m constantly tryin' to feel
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| Resorted to packin' steel
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| Cus the homie got low, got smoke
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| Right before the economy got low
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| Got home, mom’s trippin'
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| Mom, what you yellin' fo'?
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| Mom’s found out, kicked me out
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| No more sellin' dope
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| Called me out my name
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| Doggone shame
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| How I mistreated momma
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| Plus the drama remains
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| But at night momma cried
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| Put her feelings aside
|
| Prayed for the safety of her son
|
| Hoping there’s a safety on the gun
|
| Cus her son is attracted to the wrong ones in the slums
|
| Hoping that he find what he looking for
|
| Find that reciprocal
|
| Love that he lookin' fo'
|
| And pray to God give him mo'
|
| Yeah, and pray to god give him mo'
|
| Cus right now, he just wanna be found
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| I’m just tryin' to find me
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| Run from my past
|
| It keeps on chasing me down
|
| But I leave it behind me
|
| come out of hiding
|
| Put it all on the line
|
| See, I’m just trying to be found
|
| I’m just tryin' to find me
|
| Run from my past
|
| It keeps on chasing me down
|
| But I leave it behind me
|
| Come out of hiding
|
| Put it all on the line
|
| see, I’m just tryin' to be found
|
| I’m just tryin' to find me
|
| Run from my past
|
| It keeps on chasing me down
|
| But I leave it behind me
|
| Come out of hiding
|
| Put it all on the line
|
| See, I’m just tryin' to be found |