| If scars was tattoos with better stories
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| So much trauma scribed on my melon mob you liable to find tribal design tumors
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| That contain best selling novels, so much pain cursed my adolescence
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| That I can count my outer blessings on one hand
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| I was shook to the bone when informed of the three slugs you took to the dome
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| Just slammed and broke the hook to the phone
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| Teared up and let a couple trickle
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| Before retaliation could start cops knocked him and slammed him with a double
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| nickel
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| Twelve years later stil not complacent tools
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| I cock I’m pacing impatiently awaiting to snap off for obvious reasons
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| Grew up with G’s who’s hobby is squeezing, hell probably is freezing
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| Peep said it’d be a cold day before we part
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| Yeah you prone to violence, just not to start provoking acts
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| You was smarter folks than that, especially to lose your life
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| Over a Starter coat and hat, I’m stil heated so what
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| Your pain is my pain, until the world blows up
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| (Til the world blow up) I remain the same no matter life’s obstacles
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| (Til the world blow up) I will shine for us all if it’s quite possible
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| Til God calls me home and the caskets closed
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| And no longer can serenade my dogs with these classic flows
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| We were both raised studying rhymes and scriptures and the street rules to the
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| game
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| And the game deeply embeds and tarnished jewels on your brain
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| The ghetto reflects us, from doo-rags to school metal detectors
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| To earning what you rightfully deserve is irrelevant
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| Cause now we only settle for extras, if not then jumped up charging
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| Got affiliates that shot at slumped up sergeants
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| Just to avoid trumped up charges, kept my head stern
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| Focused on these bars when you was knocked in arrest burned from ???
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| Funerals became annual, we all studied from the same rule book
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| And stil lost numerous to the game’s manual
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| Supreme has the power, any dirt when added up
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| And multiplied by 7 equals the Grapes of Wrath is sour
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| For all I know you might hate me, cause I ain’t been able to write
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| Or send you a kite lately Just getting my mind right
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| So I can walk through this life straightly
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| And live see my little girl grow up
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| But you stil my dog until the world blow up
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| Until I see if the price of the happiness your deserve is cheap
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| As long as you embed these words deep
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| And can cinematically see the world from a worm’s eye view at a bird’s peak
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| Life occurs blurred, bleak sometimes but regardless of how sour the Kool-Aid is
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| though
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| It could stil be stirred sweet, there ain’t no guarantees
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| Except that them taxes in a world that attacks tactless
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| But I’mma get full access to its axis
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| And take the weight of the world off your shoulders and put it on my back like
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| atlas
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| The incompatibleness of me and your moms
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| Is something that we deny greatly, we ain’t eye to eye lately
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| The concept of not being there to guide you through life safely
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| Is the reason me, myself, and I hate me irately
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| We love each other but after mating the result is the pitas of a queen stinger
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| And stil our dear relationship goes swing slinger
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| Before death had a chance to do us part
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| Fate had flipped us off with the ring finger
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| And that’s the reason deaths celebrated and birth’s mourned
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| But I’mma always love you first born
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| From diapers until you casket bound with black skirt on
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| Til the world in your beautiful eyes stops spinning and blows up and the earths
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| gone |