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(feat. Kanye West) |
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I walked in the crib, got 2 kids, |
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and my baby momma late (uh oh, uh oh, uh oh). |
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So I had to did what I had to did, |
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'cause I had to give (do-ough, do-ough, do-ough). |
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I'm up all night gettin' my money right, |
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until the blue and whites (popo, popo, popo). |
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Now the money coming slow, but at least a ***** know |
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slow motion better than (no-oh, no-oh, no-oh) |
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You love to hear the story, again and again |
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about these young brothers from the city of wind. |
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Like juice and gin in the city we blend |
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amongst the hustle, titties and skin, fifties and rims. |
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Y'all know the spreewells |
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and trucks that's detailed, |
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heartless females that wanna ride in 'em |
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felt the southside in them with raw hides and denim, |
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bent minds collide with them. |
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A system that tries victims, we livin' in. |
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My man in the fast lane pivotin', |
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on the block ******* sellin' like m & m, |
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on the block get jump off like Kim 'n 'em, |
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on the block is how you can feel it in your skin-nin-nin. |
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Shorties get the game with no instructions of asemblin', |
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odds right it seems like the fight is dim in him. |
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Call my man cuzin like I'm kin to him, |
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he tryin' to stay straight, the streets is bendin' him. |
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(Yo) I walked in the crib, got 2 kids, |
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and my baby momma late (uh oh, uh oh, uh oh). |
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So I had to did what I had to did, |
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'cause I had to give (do-ough, do-ough, do-ough). |
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(Yo) I'm up all night gettin' my money right, |
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until the blue and whites (popo, popo, popo). |
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Now the money coming slow, but at least a ***** know |
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slow motion better than (no-oh, no-oh, no-oh) |
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It's all good in the hood like rats and gyms, |
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fullbacks and tims, blacks and rims. |
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Whether on ball courts, |
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attires are ball shorts, |
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we never fall short. |
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With us it's all force like air ones. |
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Some wave some air guns, |
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the day of the fair ones it's over fo'. |
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Cats is colder than four below, wha'sup? |
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I go toe to toe |
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wondering if it's for the art or for the dough. |
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Though I know to grow a ***** gotta learn to let go, |
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though I know the dough I gotta bring back to the ghetto. |
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Aeros or Tarot cards pointin' to the grind, |
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po' livin' and mo' prisons pointin' to my mind. |
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Shine the light up! |
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Clench my fists tight, holdin' it right up. |
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Freedom fight in dark gear for the years to get brighter. |
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Situations, the jaws get tighter, |
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my man trying to get his way to higher |
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(Yo..yo..yo) I walked in the crib, got 2 kids, |
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and my baby momma late (uh oh, uh oh, uh oh). |
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So I had to did what I had to did, |
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'cause I had to give (do-ough, do-ough, do-ough). |
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I'm up all night gettin' my money right, |
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until the blue and whites (popo, popo, popo). |
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Now the money coming slow, but at least a ***** know |
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slow motion better than (no-oh, no-oh, no-oh) |
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Yo.. hey yo I, I know I could make it right |
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if I can just swallow my pride, |
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but I can't run away or put my gun away. |
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You can't front on me! |
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I, no I can't let it ride.. |
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no no not tonight, |
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no I can't run away or put my gun away. |
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You can't front on me! |