| The place that you don’t want to go cause you’ll get no pity block
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| With drug dealers when we need some paper
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| Get on the corner and we bleed till we fifty keep avoiding them haters
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| Cause they keep dropping salt in the game
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| Bumping they gums so they end up getting caught in the game, don’t maintain
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| Handle my business on the low-low, hit a lick and go to Akapoko
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| Sipping on moet and smoking ball bat to that dro and doe-doe
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| Jesus let me ball till I fall in the grave, doing it my way
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| As a rich nigga and call it a day, I play with my K
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| Cause it ain’t no people where I stay
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| Nothing but memories and blood stains of yesterday
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| How can I make it to heaven if I be chilling in hell
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| If they can make a million you can make a million as well
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| Until then, I’ma be making deals with the Jamaicans
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| S.U.C. |
| to the finish until he call me in
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| Recognize my team cause we got players that’s gone represent
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| Screwed Up Click for life, S.U.C. |
| Screwed Up Click for life
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| All I want is money chasing paper after dead presidents
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| Screwed Up Click for life, S.U.C. |
| Screwed Up Click for life
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| You bet it’s me, K.T., new S-U-S-P-E-C-T
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| Living better and cutting and trying to stack my currencies
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| Stay alive, survive, the lord knows my soul purified
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| And make a way for my family although I know they tried
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| I’m doing bad, wishing for things that I never had
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| It’s my dad, drops and blue over gray rag
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| Until I make a million or more, I’ma smoke and lean
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| And stack my green, until a player hit the floor
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| Waking up calling shots, beam Glocks, and doing shows
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| Getting lifted on flows, six hundred, and hydro
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| K.T. |
| and Z-Ro, on a smash for cream
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| Searching for dead politicians if y’all know what I mean
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| A murdering team, spit my guillotine at you busters
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| On the grind getting mine with the watch full of bezzels
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| M-O-B I would of team until my time is foul
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| Stack my paper, scream Presidential smoke weed and get high
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| Recognize my team cause we got players that’s gone represent
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| Presidential Player for life, I’m a Presidential Player for life
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| All I want is money chasing paper after dead presidents
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| Presidential Player for life, I’m a Presidential Player for life
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| Ain’t shit changed, my life is still about drugs and slugs
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| You could keep your lights on, you’ve got to get your fight on, and mean mug
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| Early birds get the worm, but motherfuckers tend to shortstop
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| The Ro I aim my pistol played a deadly burn
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| Z-Ro the Crooked and my routine will never change
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| Hust-l-ing and bust-l-ing to keep my fingers on some pocket change
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| Got to go stay the same until, I die nigga
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| When I make the tactics of a Mo City then stay high nigga
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| We bleed blocks from seven to seven to seven again
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| Holding scratch, peeping packs, slowed then and three for tens
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| I got what you need, living in this gutter daily
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| Even though I bleed the block it’s like I can’t eat because this life pay me
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| Ducking the police when they be sliding by
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| And I swang low on a sweet chariot as I’m riding high
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| I’m paranoid everytime you see me, cause I be smoking niggas
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| Regular and it’s fucking with my conscience so I bust freely
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| Wake up in the morning and I caught my tip
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| And get ready for another day of this gangsta shit
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| (talking)
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| Y’all know nigga, every motherfucking day
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| You got to get that pay, it’s the only way
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| Recognize my team cause we got players that’s gone represent
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| Screwed Up Click for life, S.U.C. |
| Screwed Up Click for life
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| All I want is money chasing paper after dead presidents
|
| Screwed Up Click for life, S.U.C. |
| Screwed Up Click for life |