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I'm still standin... |
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This for the rap gods... |
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I tried to earn wings but, I think I grew horns |
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And maybe that's why mc's rock me like porn |
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Flowin like the water in the mississippi river |
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I suppose it grows in the hennessey sipper, thank me |
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To do a show, and we tryin to do a palace, like a midnight jet, |
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My soul roams off to dallas, |
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It's somethin like cream when we hustle on the scene |
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Other mc's and freaks wanna join the team |
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Dealers would fly, ride the engines of pimps |
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The colors were candy coated, incredible rims |
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And my dreams of what people sayin, don't get a job |
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I realize now it was all the rap gods |
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I slither through the streets like a boa constricter |
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On my car dashboard got the gangsta pictures |
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Sportin leather and energy, could that be me? |
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Smokin weed listenin to run DMC? |
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My repute wass a rap child, emotions of steel |
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Represent with no crew man, your life is sealed |
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Add a two's of all kinds, with gun zippers in em' |
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See notes don't last long, we can't wait to spin em' |
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Oh cars, and bars, weed, greed, and clothes |
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Maintain my women, clown the rest of these hoes |
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Man, my festive up braid the truth of a rhyme |
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After restin on jeopardy to my lifetime grind |
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I'm like an angel that's high smoken' weed up in heaven |
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We're as crooked as reverends, b-ball playground legends |
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Triangle, some say sinsanati bang goes, stars fangle |
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Hand cold as chris krango, we break hearts |
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And crack rib praps, take trips far |
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Shop at the gap, ten by the rap gods |
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Shoot the git, so I blessed it with some weed, bacon, eggs and grits |
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I can block the sun, like a solar-eclipse |
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My homie said he had a yaght but I don't mess with ships |
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The freak, said she hated dope dealers, they clock they ends, |
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I said which is why your payin this rapper then |
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Nickatina, I'm something like simbad the sailor |
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Dress in red and black, the true signs of a raider |