| The fuck yo?
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| I don’t even know why, I don’t even know I’m fuckin' this ill my nigga,
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| I just am
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| SE Gang
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| Yo, everyday I pray to J Dilla
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| It’s a full time job not spray a nigga
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| All this dope ain’t gon' sell itself
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| Gut shot made his stomach melt
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| Pulled off in an Audi wagon
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| Did a U-ey came back with fully automatics
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| Mad Max with the black MAC, left his body parts in a trash bag
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| Up in Visits talkin' past glass
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| Now it’s buyin' dinners eatin' crab legs
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| Everything on me vintage, pourin' champagnes over scale
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| Sly, we did it
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| Aventadors on tour, so many guns on me you would think it’s war
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| Not at all, I’m just paranoid
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| Pair of jumpers, Vera Wang, we them Vera boys
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| Close my eyes I seen pies, inhaled I smelled crime
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| Kept my ears open, I was focused
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| Thirty AK-6 shells will flip your Lotus
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| These niggas bogus, they like three-quarters soda
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| Lyrically I’m off the boat with it
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| Studded Loubout' duffle with stupid coke in it
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| Assholes with gas stoves, nigga you reap what you sow
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| Lake, I’m out on Chippawa
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| I’m the dopest, I don’t give a fuck who you are
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| I don’t give a fuck who you are
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| Like Adolf, I got no remorse
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| Slice your baby moms with a dirty box cutter
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| The real hood forever
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| Finesse right and skin tight Moschino and Fendi leathers
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| Poetic gun flow, I’m Nikki Giovanni with the Hublot
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| Blood stains on my six inch Stilettos
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| Steppin' on your throat, worse than Hitler doing lines of coke
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| Burnin' some purple OG, I’m Illmatic times three
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| Sick destiny, visualize a hustler’s complexity
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| Murderous tendencies, Balenciaga bag full of blue face Benji’s
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| Keisha Plum, Westside Gunn, 716 infamy |