| Doing fine, leave it to me
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| Suit and tie, leave it to beave
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| That’ll suit me fine, I go with the flow
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| The U-B-I don’t, know if you know
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| I’m a flamethrower my own motive for motivation
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| I’m underrated and undiscovered, compose your patient
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| You want in the game but don’t know the way
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| I hope that you make it, it’s not a overstatement
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| To say you don’t know what it’s taking
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| I’m checking my notification every second of every day
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| I don’t respond to most but they send messages anyway
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| Boy you can’t get in the game, get some little Debbie fame
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| Without fans turning they back and feeling heavy hate
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| Demos for deals, still pray that it will equate
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| Thinking of Travis and Tech as Steve Jobs, Billie Gates
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| So they gon' come with they hand open, hope they milli make
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| See that’s why my committee really cannot really affiliate, nah
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| I got some fine young women with pretty face
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| They tryna give me chase, they don’t know what it really takes
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| I can remember the shitty days working at City Bay
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| Making my 58 a shift and then murking some Jimmy Jay’s
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| What it takes
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| I done a dozen things you did in a day
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| You hit the brakes, bail if you knew what it would take
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| What it takes
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| I done a dozen things you did in a day
|
| You hit the brakes, bail if you knew what it would take
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| I’m doing fine, leave it to me
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| Suit and tie, leave it to beave
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| But that’ll suit me fine, I’m easy to please
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| The U-B-I
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| It takes dedication and skill, longevity to live
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| With a thick skin and a hustler strategy for your biz
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| A poisonous pen, money stacked back in your move
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| Gratitude, and a list of the shit that you gotta prove
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| I’m feeling great and these feelings are suitable
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| It’s a curse if you’re blessed with the gift to create
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| But hate to see that it’s beautiful, bro
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| A couple of dudes I know are moving slow
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| In music you do or don’t
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| Diligence only way you improve or grow
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| You one the fence-ass rappers getting sent back
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| My pen packing a punch that’ll punch a hole in your synapse
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| Woah, words of the wind back
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| Whispering through the Whitlow
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| Stepping my L-O-S for the christenin' of my kill zone
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| Surface for pay in this bitch, hit em with the pill yo
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| Murder for days, ditch never too big to fill
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| So hop in, I’m copping the property, that copped the new Benz
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| I’m here to stay, they came and been away like popular trends
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| So end of the day, count your blessings, all you got is your friends
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| And the friends you got depend on if they putting a stop to your ends
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| That’s what it takes
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| I done a dozen things you did in a day
|
| You hit the brakes, bail if you knew what it would take
|
| What it takes
|
| I done a dozen things you did in a day
|
| You hit the brakes, bail if you knew what it would take
|
| I’m doing fine, leave it to me
|
| Suit and tie, leave it to beave
|
| But that’ll suit me fine, I’m easy to please
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| About to lose my mind from leaving in peace
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| At 5:59, I hibernate in hyperspace
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| 6 AM, I’m wide awake, call you up to get the bag
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| If you ain’t with it, my mistake
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| Time and place, while you place your time into a pile of waste
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| I’ll be like a mile away, giving you a style to chase
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| Push away the violent hate
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| Make sure to make my child a place that validates my efforts
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| When I stare into a smiling face
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| Family first, nilous violation, hideaway
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| If you don’t like it, falcon plane, thank me for how mild I paint
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| Efforts reallocated, trajectory calibrate
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| To send me into outer space and out this shallow place
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| That’s what it takes |