| Wake up-wake-up-wake up
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| Man I hit the set, and them boys be getting ghost
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| Ya know, they spooking but it’s cool
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| I’m bout to wake 'em up
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| You better watch me, cause I’m doing bad
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| Plus I’m hurting, I gotta get weed
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| Now where them goods at, playboy give me that
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| And get them goods wrapped, I’ll make you lean back
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| See my clock is on need fo', I’m 'ready tweeking
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| I can’t be sitting up here hurting, all weekend
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| I keep on falling off, at the worst times
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| And if I’m stuck it ain’t my fault, I’m gon reverse mines
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| My pain I’ma nourish mines, cause I’m sick with it
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| Now where them ballers at, I’m looking for that big ticket
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| Ten minutes from losing it, one day from locked up
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| The way I’m living, sooner or later I’m gon be boxed up
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| Nobody trusting me, they know how I’m coming
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| I hit the block, and I swear I see them cowards running
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| Putting they stash up, peeping out they windows
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| Now why they tripping, I’m the exact opposite of 5−0
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| It’s called survival, of the fittest
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| I can’t help it cause I’m with it, and you ain’t with it
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| I come to get it, yeah I did it I did that
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| I can’t take that back, so beat your feet back
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| All y’all gon remember me, cause me ain’t no joke
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| Me do what me does, cause ain’t no being broke
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| I was raised in this, I ain’t ask for this
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| I tried changing my life, and now it’s back to this
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| Somebody pray for me, the Lord is testing me
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| But them people, they gon have problems arresting me
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| Now my lungs hurting, need that black vest
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| And I feel like, jacking one of these rappers
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| Was 14 with the felons, while y’all did the misdemeanors
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| Niggas my age, was pushing Beamers
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| Niggas that sprayed, while using Ninas
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| AK’s and SK’s, your chest cave
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| Your neck shaved, and your waves turn to still water
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| Hood on fire, racks of money steal daughters
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| Kill fathers, pop a seed in your mama
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| This routine, and you pussies thought you knew Fiend
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| I’m from a city, where ery’thing crooked
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| Where the right kind of money, meant the judge overlook it
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| And I’m screwed up, I ain’t talking Swishahouse
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| 'Fore I learned to tie my shoes up, I was burning crews up
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| My Ward verse your Ward, put them 22's up
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| These 26's, make you put them 22's up
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| This Mack-90 mean, I ain’t giving you fuck
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| But bullets, in that shiny new truck
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| What you know about, fighting for five days
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| Hanging niggas upside down, coming at you sideways
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| A crooked H, going 67−5
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| And I add them three quarters for the ride, plus I’m high
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| I got this world in the tip of my pistol, shining like crystal on my waist
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| Shadow ducking the barell, reflecting off in his face
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| He’s below his lace, so my tape’s no longer lead
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| Stomp in the Expedition, my mission was made to speed
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| Blazing up the weed, tried my tint’s and armored lint
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| Checking up on my schedule, for all the Benz I spent
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| Get the hustling broad, put the one out of socket
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| Having enough to catch life, in all four of my pockets
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| You understand, and click your hand late
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| It’s time to cope for what you never ate, guts and nuts on the dinner plate
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| Love is hate, kissing ass by wetting vocals
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| Hustling on the streets, when it’s hotter than Akapolko |