| But I love it here,
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| Just think if I wasn’t here
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| My uncles and cousins here,
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| My struggles and come-ups here
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| We sense the trouble near
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| You bubble, we double dare
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| … The block is ours and we don’t wanna share.
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| Feel my pain like it was yours
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| Crack addicts bustin' right through my doors
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| Bleedin' on my lawn, I’m destined to be great
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| I swear gypsy could read it on my palm tipsy
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| I’m calm and I blow up like Vietnam bomb history
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| I lost my moms but no drug abuses beyond 50
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| Sign of the times twist me 'til I’m found dizzy
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| My punished and my blood from all the pimps that birth me
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| Even when I was broke, I was wearing new kicks and jerseys
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| I live among the sick and scurvy
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| 'Til this day they can suck a dick that’s dirty
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| With symptoms of burning piss with pearly puss
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| My words are just emotional
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| Spoken from the bottom of the totem pole
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| I gotta get a grip, like a rope with an open hole that’s chokeable
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| On a throat that hold a vocal tone
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| My niggas push coke with no discussion on the mobile phone
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| Just hold the chrome… they know it’s on
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| … Yeah
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| (Talking)
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| Yeah. |
| For real. |
| Real talk right there…
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| Drive-by's, windows bust out, bullets put in the lawn chairs
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| From a block over, soundin' like Lil Jon snares
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| Life’s gotten colder I’m revealin' the smurf
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| How’s hustlin' not a job when you feel you at work?
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| My momma told me to keep my brain in them books
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| I grew up learnin' only way you earnin' is becoming famous or crooks
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| And since schools never taught us to be entrepreneurs
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| And we don’t have patience to make money off of computers
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| We live a fast life (fast life) with officers and shooters
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| Get scars, strip bars with broads taped bras off of their hooters
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| Such an ugly game, why it look beautiful from afar?
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| You in prison wishin' they were removin' you from the bars |