| Stoned is the way of the walk
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| In New York, shit is real, number one, grime this meal
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| Now I’m for real, my mind’s designed to kill
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| Like muthafuckas who behind them chills, and I’m still
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| Settin' it off, lettin' it off, begin it
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| Rough til my ending, leavin' in trust linen
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| Little Buck, bad ass fuck, whatever now
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| Got smart with the hustle, shot clever now
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| Set 'em down, make way for the king
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| Hailin' from New York, New York, the big city of schemes
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| Man, I’m mean, it’s so many rumors, cause I
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| Stay fly, and do crimes, with alibi
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| That’s why, y’all be lookin' like, y’all them Brooklyn Knights
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| You know the type, gettin' niggas on or off the night
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| So get on it right, cause we off the chain like bikes when they stoled
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| And all of my niggas like when it’s cold
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| Cause in the winter, I begin to, alotta other shit
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| Now BDI means Buck Does It
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| Hennessey, you guzzle it, cause wasn’t this, the recovenent
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| If it ever was, we covered it, we thuggin' it
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| Like Joe and the R, no film, but y’all can still get shot
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| When you pose on your car, slow up pa
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| You should get you dough up, pa
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| So I can stick ya like a blow up doll, now grow up y’all
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| Bidididididi-da-di-day, bidididididi-da-di-day
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| Stoned is the way ---- of the walk
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| In New York, shit is real
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| And everywhere you go, you know the deal
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| Now let me show you how the East Coast rock
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| Better yet, how these toasts pop
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| Keep frontin', and your magazine team don’t need those props
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| Only mag' I need is on machine gun tops, now take it back
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| You said something? |
| I said it back
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| And next time it’s a bomb, in your watch, when you send it back
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| We the true Men in Black, cause we don’t wear suits
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| And ties, when we shoot you guys, in fact
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| It’s still Timbs and Carhart jeans
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| With my team in the dark art beam
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| Man, you know how hard I scheme, to get cream
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| To get this far and come off with a jar of steam
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| That’s y’all dream, shit, pardon me
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| I got to make moves in the game, give a fuck about losin' the fame
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| Better yet, losin' ya brain, the more or less, losin' ya name
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| Cause you won’t be losin' no pain, who movin' this mayne?
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| Caught up in the street life, everybody think it’s a sweet life
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| I mean, it’s sweet, if you eatin' right
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| But nine times out of ten, the mind tricks the body again
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| The body go for the shotty to win
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| The brain split, ain’t shit, niggas talk alot
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| But loose lips sink ships, and you about to drop
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| And I don’t mean no record, be double o, be double you
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| We never know, he never knew, check it
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| Boots and jeans, all hoops and dreams
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| The ghetto model just to get out of the ruthless scene
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| We call the hood, so it’s all good, I hustled up state
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| In the woods, with po' nine, put your face in the mud
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| I had to grind, double time, get mine, listen to dudes
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| That shine, movin' through them ruthless times |