| Aye yo, times is hard, but we get through em
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| And even though it’s crime involved, we had to do 'em
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| By any means, Malcolm X marks the spot
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| I went from ridin' bikes to ridin' through in a drop
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| The road to success for me was real gritty
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| Wasn’t no stress for me, don’t feel pity
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| Life is a bitch and she sure ain’t pretty
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| And I’mma do me anyway, nigga
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| Cause I’m from New York City
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| I break bread, ribs, hundred dollar bills
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| A young prodigy when it come to drug deals
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| In New York I get blood money
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| Dirty cash bought my matte black Jeep
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| I used to skip out on cabs
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| Went from givin' no dough to given limos to get to shows
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| Either way I’m driven — the shit shows
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| Spit flows like boat sick hoes, Yachtmaster Rolex watch above my Mo'
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| Drinkin' champagne out the bottle
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| Young Crisco, pop it, hop in, let’s politic, ditto
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| Same niggas sayin' «time to get this money»
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| They’ve been the same niggas sayin' that for years, still hungry
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| New discussion: New York artists wanna be southern
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| The city’s lost, so out-of-towners find themselves frontin'
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| It was Big, Jay Z, now Troy Ave here after
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| But Kendrick Lamar’s just a weirdo rapper
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| We went from Uzis to elephant guns
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| Small pistols on Gynsills — little shorties, cheeba, big forties
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| Sittin' back in the 'hood — good, nigga, good
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| Retrievin' every dollar bill, grabbin' my wood
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| You know we specialists at nighttime
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| Call us the poisonous pumpers
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| Who run up on these niggas like Nightline
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| The arsonists and good vines
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| That means the wares is amazing — assignment, baby, since '89
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| Creepin' through hallways, big laundry bags
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| Four Ks — handle them niggas, now jam niggas
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| Fuck they gon' do with no CREAM? |
| You might as well be a bum
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| Cause you could never represent the money team
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| We smash faces, flash bracelets, that’s the basic
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| Don’t get smacked in your mouth with 45 razors
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| Yeah, the jungle brothers rollin' with all coverage
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| Get 'em young Troy — What? |
| He fucked with us
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| You know how I steady rock — New York City bop
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| Used to slang grainy rock — war on the petty block
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| Back-to-back cases
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| Now we drink liquor, drinkin' back-to-back cases
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| No, we ain’t erase this
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| Spades hand, aces — out of town papers
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| Luck’s all Vegas — herb shit, Avis
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| I graduated from the street life accordingly
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| Said my first rhyme on a jail phone, recordedly
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| I been shot niggas since 14
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| I’ve been to war, mean — got guns from Fort Greene
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| I extorted niggas — I was the re-up man
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| I gave the orders, nigga — P.A.P.I. |
| gave the orders, nigga
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| King flow, used to get coke from Domingo
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| Get up in the old folks' home, he’s playin' bingo
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| He sold it for 10, but I got em for cinco
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| Safe in the ceiling, the guns under the sink flow
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| The life and times of a New York Nigga, we very different
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| Please pardon my aggression, but move from my vision
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| With that bullshit you spittin', you talkin' my high off
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| You blowin' my vibe, you forcin' my iron off my belt
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| I’m forcin' myself to be chill
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| Listen to them journalists, get yourself killed
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| They ain’t never lived this life, and no near nothin' 'bout it
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| They hide behind aliases and talk rowdy
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| From behind a MacBook, fuck a blog, dawg
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| If I see you in the flesh you’ll be shook
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| Like a martini — I know they tired of me
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| I know they wish I would die already, but I’m very dope
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| I’m so cold, you should get your February coat
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| That NY shit, you niggas got warm hearts
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| No offense, but I’ll tear you apart
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| No matter which part of the map you reppin', get your weapon |