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I'm a tell you what |
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I'm talking bout |
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When I was a young boy |
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My mama always told me don't take no shit |
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Mother****er hit you then you better hit him back |
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So when I hit the nigga it go blame |
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And nigga outta line |
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Back when |
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I was 'bout big wheels and race tracks |
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Pop push the tornado and rode to eight tracks |
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Never stood a chance, exposed from way back |
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Lying to the baby, saying it's |
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AjaxI was about four, when |
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I walked passed that door |
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That should have been closed where |
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I first witnessed the raw |
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See in my household it was quite unique |
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Playing' hide and seek you might find a key |
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Car blames accidents so late branded my mental |
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Hal's my role model in that |
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Lincoln Continental |
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Bought all my friends icees, it was about six |
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And when he pull off |
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I was like "See told you we was rich" |
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How I turned out let it be no surprise |
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When they speak of cousin |
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Ricky it brings tears to their eyes, see |
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My family got a history of hustlers |
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Lil' brother, big brother, mother to grandmother, it's tradition |
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I'm a tell you what |
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I'm talking bout |
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When I was a young boy |
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My mama always told me don't take no shit |
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Mother****er hit you then you better hit him back |
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So when I hit the nigga it go blame |
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And nigga outta line, |
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I said, "Mother****er's outta line" |
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My momma didn't see it coming, my daddy was there |
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What's my excuse? |
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Cartoons were the root |
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Started with |
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Yosemite Sam |
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With the gun in palm of each hand |
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What couldn't |
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I demand see |
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Thirteen, studied the gansta's lean |
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Lil' grim no smile, lotta cash meanwhile |
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Daddy had the |
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Chrystler fifth avey |
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Hustlers on the block cars were aerodynamic |
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With ghetto paint jobs, mango |
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M 3'sOn seventeen inch |
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BB's, riding tough |
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The bike was huffy, attention was froze |
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And a twenty-five cent frozen cup laid my soul |
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The streets had made the mold |
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Since fourteen holding' push a |
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T was chosen |
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Rebel like |
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Che Gueverra, |
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RC Tyco verses |
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Carrera, pick |
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I'm a tell you what |
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I'm talking bout |
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When I was a young boy |
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My mama always told me don't take no shit |
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Mother ****er hit you then you better hit him back |
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So when I hit the nigga it go blame blame |
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And nigga outta line, |
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I said, "Mother****er's outta line" |
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I think of grandma and the weight she would foot 'em |
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She kinda remind me of |
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Madame Queen in hoodlum |
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Spoiled the grandkids, each one she would treasure |
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Said she kept two guns and to do so was a pleasure |
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The cigarette dangled, forty-five degree angle |
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Still every bit a lady but you don't wanna tangle |
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Let that explain me and how |
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I got involved |
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Young N's hustlers in the creek, me, |
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Jon Jon and |
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JamalAge fifteen, walking through the hallway |
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Played the |
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New Jordan's, first one's on the scene |
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See I could afford them, living out a dream |
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Hustler on the rise, laces untied |
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Slid pass |
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Young N's, couldn't break my stride |
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Didn't know |
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I was knotted in street ties |
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Teachers asking how and why, bitches passing by |
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Oh my he so gangsta! |
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I'ma tell you what |
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I'm talking about |
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When I was a young boy |
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My mama always told me don't take no shit |
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Mother****er hit you then you better hit him back |
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So when I hit the nigga it go blame |
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And nigga outta line, |
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I said, "Your nigga's outta line" |
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I'ma tell you what |
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I'm talking about |
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Outta line! |