| I woke up in a city I can’t even say the name of
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| People looking at me wondering where the fuck I came from
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| I had to catch a flight to them
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| Drank a couple whiskies in the air
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| Called my momma when I landed and told her not to be scared
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| I’m a rolling stone
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| Never really knowing when I’m going home
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| Went and caught the itch and got the beat like it was Cortisone
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| I’m out here
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| You can go ahead and let them know
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| That the groove has to be slumped
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| And that bass has got to be low
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| This that shit that you can play in LA
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| From Chicago to Seattle all the way to BK
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| Caught the A to JFK and had to hop on a plane
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| I’ll send you ass a postcard
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| Postcard
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| I’ll send your ass a postcard
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| Postcard
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| I said I woke up in a city I ain’t never even been to
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| Called the homie Chords to see what shit we could get into
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| I had to jump a pond to them
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| Got my luggage searched when I arrived
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| Po-po thought that I was holding
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| Told them I don’t have the time
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| I’m a vagabond
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| Bag is packed and loaded and the drank is strong
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| Watched the city disappear behind me like it’s camouflaged
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| I’m out here
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| You can go ahead and say it loud
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| That snare has to be crisp
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| That ass has got to be round
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| That glass has got to be tipped
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| That lost has got to be found
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| That music’s got to go up
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| Because this shit’s about to go down
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| That glass has got to be tipped
|
| That lost has got to be found
|
| That music’s got to go up
|
| Because this shit’s about to go down
|
| This that shit that you can play in LA
|
| From Chicago to Seattle all the way to BK
|
| Caught the A to JFK and had to hop on a plane
|
| I’ll send you ass a postcard
|
| Postcard
|
| I’ll send your ass a postcard
|
| Postcard |