| I use to gaze over streets and alley ways
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| writing rhymes waiting to go home on the J
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| For Yelawolf, Queens was a short state
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| 2 years on the grind and the music barely paid.
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| I had to get back home cuz record deals denied me
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| so many people would listen in love but they were scared to drive me so.
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| Over and through the woods on a greyhound bus I go
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| (5G production dealer promises to hold?)
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| see thats 2000 boy U haul for I stuck
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| 500 deposit in a parking way who know,
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| let not forget about food and diepers for the next 6 months
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| G on my MBC and im back in the slum
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| atleast I can make beats and practice some,
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| maybe someone will call me before a demo track to cut,
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| I dribble at the thought of using out of what I lust,
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| me being soaked inside this needle is a bust
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| the world will never know what truely lies beneath this man,
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| what power opposites with this pen in my hand
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| rather then to quit I just continue with this truth
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| (and its back down south and im bout to raise the roof?) |