| Feds kicked the door, this the realest shit I never wrote
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| Baby mama sped up in the Benz screamin' «Let 'em go»
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| Killed my young nigga, was the realest one I ever known (Killed my y-)
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| Feds kicked the door, this the realest shit I never wrote (This the realest
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| shit I never wrote)
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| Sun shinin' on my Black skin
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| Still got the birds going crazy, I’m tapped in
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| We was all broke, past tense, now we dance, bricks
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| Hermès alligator jacket, the MAC-10 (This the realest shit I never wrote)
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| Young, Black and belligerent back in them tenements
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| Backtrackin' my innocence, crack was the genesis
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| G-packs and Guinnesses, macks on the premises
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| All I envision is stacks when I reminisce
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| In the mix is mood swings, you do things
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| Chasin' cheddar, better lace your shoe strings
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| Few scheme, others hate, in other states
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| Your circle wrong, cases form another shape
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| Off the blake and set aside, look what arrived
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| Mobb Deep presence with my mother eyes, I come alive
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| Undenied is GOAT status, the most dappest
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| From old habits, I wrote classics, so graphic
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| Lost Phil, they killed Will, Paul dead
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| Trav did a twelve in the feds with my coke head
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| Low-res, picture blurry, peep the obituary
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| To fuck the world, you gotta switch it for missionary
|
| Feds kicked the door, this the realest shit I never wrote
|
| Baby mama sped up in the Benz screamin' «Let 'em go»
|
| Killed my young nigga, was the realest one I ever known (Killed my y-)
|
| Feds kicked the door, this the realest shit I never wrote (This the realest
|
| shit I never wrote)
|
| Sun shinin' on my Black skin
|
| Still got the birds going crazy, I’m tapped in
|
| We was all broke, past tense, now we dance, bricks
|
| Hermès alligator jacket, the MAC-10 (This the realest shit I never wrote, ayo)
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| Made two fiends smack box, whoever won got a fifty (Ah)
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| Hater actin', man down at the Whitney (Ah)
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| Pissy staircases, pissy elevators, namesakes faded
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| Pray that my new dope spot don’t get raided
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| Bricks look so good, I didn’t want to break it
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| You ain’t ever spent a quarter mil' in dope money on a painting
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| Pacin' with the Draco
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| My Rollie looked out of date, I spit in your mama face
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| The Langerfield sofa match the Prada drapes, shoppin' ace
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| Chop a kid finger off, you no compensate, you know how I operate (Ah)
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| Told my Spanish plug meet at The Monterey, ándale
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| Started weighin' at the Days Inn
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| Some homies shinin', some homies blazin'
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| Spent seven hundred on jewels, my neck amazing
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| Rest in peace Chine Gun, rest in peace Bacon (Ah)
|
| Feds kicked the door, this the realest shit I never wrote
|
| Baby mama sped up in the Benz screamin' «Let 'em go»
|
| Killed my young nigga, was the realest one I ever known (Killed my y-)
|
| Feds kicked the door, this the realest shit I never wrote (This the realest
|
| shit I never wrote)
|
| Sun shinin' on my Black skin
|
| Still got the birds going crazy, I’m tapped in
|
| We was all broke, past tense, now we dance, bricks
|
| Hermès alligator jacket, the MAC-10 (This the realest shit I never wrote)
|
| Griselda by Fashion Rebels |