| Crooked corrupted criminal crime boss with cream
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| Cocaine hustler, blowing out the brains of busters
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| Being my mansion, chilling inhalin the ganja smoke
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| Counting mad cream, weighin tons of coke
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| Guarded by thugs and rottweilers
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| I flood the streets with drugs and clock dollars
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| Niggas get plugged when my Glock collers
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| Skunk smokers, philly and aisle ripper
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| Cristal sipper, I’ve been a willy for awhile nigga
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| 'Gruff got hoes, the man with all the nachos
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| Expensive hot clothes, drop top Rolls
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| East coast west coast fiends overdose
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| 'Gruff get the cream with my team and I’m ghost
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| This money be temptin me, to jump out the mpv, empty 3
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| Clips of hollow tips with no sympathy
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| Since 14 I sold morphine for more green
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| Kept open a nautica coat under the draw sting
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| And watched out for cops, squad cars, and beamerz
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| And laundry ninas
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| Flea the country to Argentina
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| Laid back in the beach (yeah)
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| Coastin with commuters
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| Smokin the buddahs, on the cruiseline boat to Aruba
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| For awhile yo, pump the vowel so, I can pile dough
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| Then become a Harlem Kingpin just like Al Po'
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| Get paid so, I can lay low, in San Diego
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| With yay-o so I can ship it out whenever I say so
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| Yo! |
| Makin' this money is the American Dream
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| East Coast to West Coast you know what I mean
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| Whether its Uptown, Downtown you pick the scene
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| You gots to get your own scheme
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| We ain’t splitin this cream
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| Yo! |
| Imma run hestrically, till they bury me, count numerically
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| Hills of Beverly, more grands than cherokee
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| President like Eric B., and Rakim
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| Drug game I’m top ten, locked in, right now its not an option
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| And those who creep, got the Mac in the heat
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| They got the 5 inch screens in the back of the seat
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| And now they got to steady braggin
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| Last year, had me saggin', wasn’t ready when heavy
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| Was back tossed me in the paddywagon
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| But ain’t nobody out here stoppin love
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| Cause we was 12 years old in the Cotton Club, poppin Bub
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| So Hall of Fame without the fortune, Goddamn you wrong
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| Killa kid Kama’Ron surviving in the Amazon
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| Yo! |
| I leave you dazed and froze
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| With all kinds of amazing flows
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| Money surrounded I counted with bathing with Asian Hoes
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| Back home niggas is after me
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| I’m back to sea sippin daquiri’s
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| Coke factory, fiends baggin up crack for me
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| From cutting up rocks to investing in stocks
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| Nautica yachts, and knots busting outa my socks
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| Now that’s bloods play the chub
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| All the ladies love me, they hate who made me hubby
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| Behind my back they say my babys ugly
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| Each night I sleep, with freaks with Lamborghini, jeeps
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| Neighbors be sneaking peeks, how my semen leaks, between the sheets
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| Mess up my loot, I cut your collars, Juan
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| Cause these is modern times, and the only thing I see is dollar signs
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| Yo! |
| Makin' this money is the American Dream
|
| East Coast to West Coast you know what I mean
|
| Whether its Uptown, Downtown you pick the scene
|
| You gots to get your own scheme
|
| We ain’t splitin this cream
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| Check It!
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| To be sittin clean, in the mean beams is every teams dream
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| Big L’s a Cream Fiend, with more green than Springsteen
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| Yo know I’m crazy quick to smack a groupie
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| I’m known to mack a hoochie, do I got stacks of lucci? |
| (absolutely)
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| Harlem Kids is known for felonies, and sellin keys, pushin 300z's
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| Gee-Es- 3's, and puffin trees, these Gees breeze while Dee-Tees
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| Be yellin freeze, we stash cheese while keepin pockets full of centuries
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| Aye-Yo I’m set for the rest of my life
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| Some clown that laid the threat cause I had s** with his wife
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| I stuck my tool to his brain, so that fool can get slain
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| Nigga, yo' bitch choose me, you know the rules to the game
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| Yo! |
| Makin' this money is the American Dream
|
| East Coast to West Coast you know what I mean
|
| Whether its Uptown, Downtown you pick the scene
|
| You gots to get your own scheme
|
| We ain’t splitin this cream
|
| Yea What?
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| Harlem on the Rise
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| Blood shed
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| Killa Kam
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| Six Figures
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| Cee-O-Cee
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| Chuck Blassie
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| My Man man Mase, the Bad Boy
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| Uptown
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| Mcgruff
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| Big L
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| Nfl |