| I went from old school Chevy’s to drop top porches
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| You couldn’t walk a mile off in my Air Forces
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| And you ain’t seen what I’ve seen
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| I can get a 100,000 in these Sean John jeans
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| I went from old school Chevy’s to drop top porches
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| And you ain’t did what I did
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| If you from where I’m from you gotta get how you live
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| Everybody already know jeezy real street nigga
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| Every time you see me all around street niggaz
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| I hope you got yours I keep mine
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| In the club blowing dro throwing up gang signs
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| And you already know dog
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| 745 back to back me and O dog
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| These other niggaz is jokers
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| What they rein up wit I spent it up all the strokers
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| In one night eight bitches sipped bottles of cris
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| Forty grand sit back so you can glance my wrist
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| Keep bread so we carry dem toaster
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| But keep back though my earrings ferocious
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| It’s not just my imagination
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| I’m the one in the topic in yo conversation
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| Jack boyz say they gon rob
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| But on the real fuck niggaz y’all don’t want these problems
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| Black tees, black ones, and a fitted cap
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| The Mack 11 make me walk wit a crazy dap
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| Y’all say we country niggaz yee-haw
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| The money comin back and forth like a seesaw
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| And y’all ain’t never seen what we saw
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| Stacks of twenty dollar bills, bricks, or white rolls
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| What they got Lil Pha we don’t care bout shit
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| Ludacris how they ride out twenty wit dem bricks
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| Shit I spit it for y’all
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| On the real my niggaz shit I spit it for y’all
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| Who gives a fuck about friends?
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| If you mix the baking soda wit it you can get a Benz
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| While y’all robbing and boosting
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| I’m standing over the stove like the chef in Houston
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| And it’s not about the flip mane
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| Want the real bread it’s all about your whip game |