| Picture me rolling, top drop to the sunset
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| Mind on the billion, some shit I ain’t done yet
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| No more thinkin bout me, 'cause I’ve already done that
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| Life of a dope boy, where my sac and my gun at
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| Look in the mirror, see my reflection salute back
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| Homie had a strap, the niggas shot, he ain’t shoot back
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| Off with his head, homie, no, we don’t play that
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| And never keep that work in the house where you’re lay at
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| Finessin my recipe, winning my destiny
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| Missing my home boys and they get the best of me
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| Feel like I’m walking with angels, get money with strangers
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| The life of a screen name, it’s got a bangle
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| In love with her down, but she’s still a hoe
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| I’m still a nigga, so you know how it goes
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| Try not to look at her friends, try not to play her in public
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| But it is what it is if she leaves then fuck it
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| It’s 2012, a long way from 1999
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| A young nigga from Ridgecrest with a Glock 9
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| I remember one time, more than one time
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| At the school in 2009, in the lunch line
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| I was hustling and grinding like a motherfucker grown man
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| Sixteen years old, paying the bills, I’m a grown man
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| Now I’m hustling while my brother doing jail time
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| Wrote him a letter, tryna give a nigga fed time
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| But the strong survive, ain’t no bitch in my blood line
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| On the hood they want, and nigga I’m on the gun line
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| This life ain’t about choices, and niggas got vices
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| But I’m slanging this work like a nigga got license
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| Put these hoes on the roll, 'cause the bitches be trifling
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| Cut the lights in the club, yeah, the nigga be icey
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| Niggas talking in codes, I’m just listening for prices
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| I keep one in the head cuz these niggas be shiesty
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| And that’s real |