| Welcome.
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| It is I that you see.
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| Little boys an girls… Revelationz.
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| Listen.
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| Why do the good die young, an the bad mutha fuckas live fo ever?
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| Cuz nigga, we livin on hell nigga.
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| This is hell mutha fuckas.
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| Uh.
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| All my life it’s like I’m fuckin around wit the wrong people
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| make a movie about my life an it be a long sequel
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| bout people livin off free-be's an brick cheese
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| that’s how that shit be’s, out here you have to grind to get g’s
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| no Bently flippin less yo name is Felix Mitchell listen
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| little boys an girls my mama could barely pay the fuckin rentin
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| my daddy is surely gotta be somewhere in this world pimpin
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| white bitches fo doe, he was a jiggalo livin in women
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| he used to take me an my Village potnas to go swimmin
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| he drove a BMW, they father drove a lemon
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| nigga in the end my mama kept spendin money on gin an drugs
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| I had to sleep on the fuckin rug where the roaches was
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| I hung wit thugs always rollin dice an pumpin gas
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| to get some cash
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| you had to store the coke, we mop his ass
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| my pops would give me cash, but my mama would take it from me
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| if I didn’t give it to her, she’d beat my ass butt-naked homie
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| the only way I would see a movie was out wit the homies
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| I’m always bummy, had no money, they would pay it fo me
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| my daddy told me when I was very young
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| that he was on the run, I heard him mention somethin about Colombians
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| an I could come stay wit him if I didn’t like the way that moms treat me
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| I juss didn’t like the way that moms beat me
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| wit Tonka toys, in front of my boys hit me wit objects
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| so I juss
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| got to sky the fuck up out these projects
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| I left behind my moms an sisters so relentless
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| never thought they’d get evicted an be sleepin on benches
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| my pops was on some pimp shit, sewin up Frisco on novero
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| 5−0 kicked down the door, he flushed the elbow
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| there goes another nigga straight to the pen
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| by the age 10, done lived wit every relative, an friend I know
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| here I go again
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| livin wit my grama, then my auntie
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| my uncle
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| where ever I go niggas would gank me fo my bundle
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| swindle my check, wit Section 8 an medi-cal benefits
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| but me I wasn’t gettin shit
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| spend my shit on nay kids
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| that’s what they did
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| fuck relatives
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| if I don’t do my thang now, I never lived
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| never gone get it if you sit on yo ass
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| so fuck math class
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| I’m on the Ave wit crack fo that ass
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| like son like dad
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| I love the smell of money, hash an zig-zags
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| look at the back of my ass, beat the sag, it’s big cash
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| involved but
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| we all get caught up an sent to juvenille halls
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| scrape yo turf on the wall, in county drawls
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| my mama abused alcohol
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| my pops an inmate
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| an me I’m sweepin halls to intake
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| hate
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| my mama carried the weight ain’t seen my pops since '86
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| every year, in an outta jail fo crazy shit
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| so much shady shit done happened to me, I can’t put it behind me
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| the Lord took my mama life in '93
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| God bless her soul
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| cuz she was caught up in a, house hold fire at a rehab so we sued they
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| ass
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| this shit makin me mad
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| high ass lawyer we had Melvin Bell, I tried to tell my sister that he’d
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| get paid half
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| settlement, me 56 G’s
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| my big sister 56 G’s
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| my little sister 106 G’s
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| Ripley’s wont believe that for the life of my mama they only gave us a
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| quarter a mill ticket to split
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| I can’t deal wit this shit
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| I wish you was here to see me get this deal wit Chris, an Noo-Trybe
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| mama you died I cried
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| cuz you missed
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| the gold an platinum plaques
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| I bet you never thought yo little black ass son could rap
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| now I’m breakin off scratch
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| an burnin zags wit Sparkle
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| that’s my little sister askin the Lord why did you make her life so
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| awful
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| next thing you know my pops go
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| in '95 he died of AID’s
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| it’s either suicide of cry fo days
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| an weeks an months
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| blowin blunts, keep away flashes
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| no funeral caskets, juss two vases wit ashes |