| Ay yo…
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| Make sure the money machine still work…
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| Ay yo, remember nights in that cell
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| My cellie prayin' for the crack, lord
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| If the tape bust, I knock a stack off
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| Remix, now I made it twenty, clips so long it look fake
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| Shot your shit up with one pull-y
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| Viktor & Rolf over the vest, bitches think I’m lifting weights
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| Run a nigga jewels at the VMA’s
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| Trying to make everyday a payday
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| I came home, judge sent him right back for a decade
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| PRPS distressed, BAPE Reeboks
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| Floss lied to death, I ain’t trying to get what he got
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| Slaughtering cocaine under water snorkeling
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| My reflexes put the fork in it to fortune it
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| Fortune 500 niggas run it
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| Drag 'em from the Ghost like it’s nothing
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| Never been shot but I’ve seen niggas get their shit lit up
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| I’m like Rich Paul, but richer
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| Spent nights crying over triple beams…
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| (Ch-cha Chain, Ch-cha…)
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| Spent nights crying over triple beams…
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| (Let's count this mothafucking nigga…)
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| Spent nights crying over triple beams…
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| (The fuck I’m talking about guns… Word up, yo…)
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| Pyrex whipping pushing kicks contraband handling
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| We been hand to handin' since the hieroglyphs
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| Walkie talkie recievers, watching all the narcs cops
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| In the scope of my binoculars, we just trying to re-up
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| Black cell jackets we the boat niggas
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| La vida loc livin capo we’re the coke dealers
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| This is business nothing personal, nothing emo
|
| Ambitions of niggas transitions to a kilo
|
| First chapter, we were sending for them C-notes
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| Incognito moving D-dope
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| Crash dummies turn into torpedos
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| Tech 9's lick off sounding like a song from the Migos
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| Yank bitches, slot machines in Reno, the fish fry was Filipino
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| In the kitchen leaning, triple beamin latinos
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| A hundred band jooking out the jex flexing
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| Sixteen hundred off every zip effortless
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| Spent nights crying over triple beams…
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| Spent nights crying over triple beams…
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| Spent nights crying over triple beams… |