| I think I’m gonna have to pay a visit
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| Beat to the ones that said I wouldn’t get back
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| When I get back -- get back
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| Let’s get down to business (say what?)
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| I think I’m gonna have to pay a visit
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| Beat to all y’all, this is for all y’all
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| Handle your biz, fall in, you fall off
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| I’ve been kicked, cut, jumped, stuffed
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| By record company exec’s, schemin' on my bucks
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| These streets is rough, Timb’s on my feet get scuffed
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| I hate to see my peeps get cuffed
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| As weed gets puffed, MC’s get bluffed
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| A&R's get pressed, dj’s get they shit bust
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| Bucktown, Duck Down Enterprise Record
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| Without distribution, dog, we still push records
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| I step to my business, man, strongarm my own crew
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| Rock with a group and a long tool
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| Peep the fore path, I been said the shit in the past
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| Let’s go back in time, flip the hourglass
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| In 1998, I couldn’t wait, to get all my niggas
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| And do shows, from state to state
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| Even in 2000, two triple oh
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| I used to be the man, until my band got old
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| But I cannot fold, nor my paper thin
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| Get all my paper in, or I’mm lace ya chin
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| Know this B.I. |
| thing, I be about it
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| The prophet is only logic
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| I’m like assassins from Elijah Muhammed
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| Get ya hands out my pocket, stop it
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| You can’t have it, in Long Street
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| It can’t happen on beat, let another label
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| Try to play me for cheap, I’m takin' this cheap
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| Trynna chase down paper, til the white display the heat
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| The devil may cry, that’s for Cuba, I’m playin' for keeps
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| How my ends not gon' meet, at the end of the week
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| I’mma be the streets for ya, I can get the streets on ya
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| Give me the things, I can bang, plus I’m trained to get lower
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| That’s the last time I seen a CEO and his lawyer
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| See my shit tight, and I don’t stack 5 feet taller
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| Yo, niggas gossip quick to pop shit
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| Actin' like they pop shit, really not shit, yo
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| Muthafuckers try to say I changed, man
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| I’mma trynna change from Lex to Range
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| Don’t look strange, trynna say that I ain’t the same
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| Y’all niggas know about Starang, the same nigga
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| From the white building up the block
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| Who used to be the hype man, for Ruck and Rock
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| Who knew the number to them bitches that can suck some cock
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| Got in the beef, had thugs that’ll bust them shots
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| My vocals make me more than bi-coastal
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| You local, I get this dough like I’m suppose to
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| Make riches that’s far from social
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| Hear these words, when we approach you
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| You keep our business alone
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| You keep our business, in mind, your own
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| Niggas fuckin' with the feds, they got me fed up
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| Fuck keepin' it real, just keep ya head up
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| Damn if I smoke the weed to keep me dead up
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| Niggas fuckin' with lens, that’ll get them set up
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| Bucktown is the shit, so nigga shut up
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| Fuck parkin' the whip, just keep it reved up
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| Niggas needin' the fifth, to keep a leg up
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| Niggas bustin' they shit to big they set up
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| Aiyo, let’s get down to business
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| Let’s get pound with this shit, get that dough
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| Slap a nigga, dude be like, yo why you do that for?
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| Same reason I slap the other two, tic-tac-toe
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| Fuck around, and jump out the ride with the big black foe
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| Pop you in the face, and leave you with a big black hole
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| Every time I fuckin' rhyme, you always get that flow
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| Fuck you, I’m past that, ditch that flow
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| Heard you performin' at what, niggas, skip that show
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| Nigga ---
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| Who we be, we be Boot Camp Clik
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| Click, click, in the night |