| What up Emf, what up Jay
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| I swear these rap motherfuckers
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| They all dreamin' they all gangsters
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| Everybody’s a drug lord
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| Everybody’s fucking Ron O’Neal or some shit, right
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| It’s hip-hop
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| Most of y’all not as hard as you say you is
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| You soft as cotton swabs, so get up out my ear
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| I’d rather have wax build up
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| Than whack images of rap niggas
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| Talkin' 'bout shit that they don’t even know about
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| All the keys of coke they got
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| All the whips they drove and the hoes they be going at
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| Flow out substances, so much irrelevant
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| I ain’t tryin' to preach, but at least try to relish this
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| You’re hotdogging it, you’re feeling yourself
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| The movie of your life, you gonna film with yourself
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| Co-wrote and co-produced by you and only you
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| Embellished and re-edited and this is nothing new
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| And I ain’t tryin' to discipline
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| But this is something you all don’t realize
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| Most rappers just lie
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| A sight for sore eyes, I’m the brightest upcoming
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| These other niggas dreamin' if they thinkin' that they thuggin'
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| I told you, like everybody’s a thug
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| I seen this nigga, man
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| Yo, I seen you at the bus stop, dawg
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| You don’t have a Maybach
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| You ain’t got no Benz
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| Wake up, man
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| It’s all good, Jo
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| You can have a bucket and do what you do, dawg
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| It ain’t really all that, you know
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| It’s cool if you think your flow the hottest 'round
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| But you’re not Kanye, so go an put your collar down
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| And you ain’t gotta frown, dawg
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| Just sound off
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| You can be a thug, but please keep your pants on
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| Cause all this saggin' is bad to see
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| They say the ones that try the hardest be the fags indeed
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| You’re watching too much television
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| Dipset could tell you, listen
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| Your whole flow, I can spot it like leopard skin
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| You’re not Juelz, Jim Jones, or Cam
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| Hellrel or JR, hell, you’re just fake and since
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| Jeezy dropped, everybody a snowman
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| Say you got pounds, I ain’t seen you with an «O» yet
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| What’s so bad is that your flow is all fixated
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| Over street dreams, your dream, you can’t illustrate it
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| You’re not innovative, you’re just an imitator
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| Take your Visine and caffeine and wake up
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| And another thing is
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| The Bama want to talk like
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| You know who I’m talking about too, but
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| The bad man want to talk about
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| He got money, he got jewelry
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| And he got dip
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| Man, I seen you, youngin'
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| You got Old Navy on
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| What is you doin'
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| You got motherfuckin' Pumas on, dawg
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| Check the catalog
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| My name Wale, last name irrelevant
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| Drive an 89 Cam', I’m really tryin' to sell that shit
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| Used to sell crack, wasn’t sellin' big weight
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| Did the low here and there to get my sneaker game straight
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| Sold weed, though, but no kilos of coke
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| Used to go in niggas' whips for C notes and roll
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| And I’m not a thug but I do got a temper
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| My right hand symbolizes what I must remember
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| And yes, I’ve shot pistols
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| My intentions were to never take another life
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| Unless mine dangled in the trenches
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| Sprinkle them with flow until they souls all drenched
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| And drown with my style, cause I’m brighter than they is
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| I hope to make them smile while enlighten all the kids
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| Hip-hop, that’s my art, real life is what it is
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| Real
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| I is real like that sentence of Jacob
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| Symbolize greatness, Spike Lee, wake up
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| And if you rap and you got, like, a problem with me
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| First of all, you can come see me
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| Second of all, you, you don’t gotta tell us about all these items that you
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| claim to have
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| Know what I’m saying
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| You got your guns, sure, you know
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| And another thing, back on the other shit
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| The bama told me he be with dimes
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| The whole time, he in the mall buying shoes for the girls
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| She tryin' to look like Star Jones a little bit
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| Like, before the surgery or the lipo
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| But anyway, I’m jive, whatever
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| My nigga told me he fresh
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| He got dissed down at Third
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| The nigga got like an 85 Corolla or some shit
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| My point is, these rap niggas is jive
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| Dreamin', but it’s alright
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| I ain’t gonna knock your hustle
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| I’mma let that hook ride out, cause that was jive |