| Yea
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| You remember back in the days when you used to rocks waves and shit
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| When like… yo I had the fucking 360 my nigga
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| Like nobody in the hood was fucking my shit
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| And that’s real shit
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| Since nine five, momma been working nine five
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| And I know the landlord fed up with our lies
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| So we pray to the Gods, the Jahs, and the Allahs
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| To keep us safe and watch our lives
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| Cause all we tryna do is do good
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| Put on my hood when I walk through hoods
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| Cause these niggas these days is loco
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| You’ll get it in ya vocals if you ain’t a local
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| Yeah, that’s why I’m tryna go global
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| Yeah, that’s why I’m tryna be a mogul
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| And I’m hopeful that me spittin it soulful will have me in the Daily Postal
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| Flying coastal eatin tofu
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| Like I told you I know niggas who trash rappin
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| Worried bout the trendin fashions rather than descendin' passion
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| They want me send em tracks but I just send em laughter
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| Right after I start laughin, they start askin «what happened?»
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| I’m back to the chapter
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| Momma told me follow dreams and never have to ask her, to
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| So that’s what I do, became an MC master
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| Since then it’s been a disaster for you and your favorite rapper
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| Go ahead ask em «Who is Joey Bad?»
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| Watch em grasp, asthma, damn it’s so sad
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| He paused the chatter cause he know he rather back up
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| Than to admit the kid is hotter than magma
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| But fuck it, you gotta give credit where it’s due
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| Cause you ain’t gon' like the karma when it’s set up on you
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| It can get you on your medical, fuck you up in the decimals
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| Or get you 2 to 3 for residue found it your retinal
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| And they told me not to be so complex
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| Dumb it down to accomplish articles in Complex
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| And The Source, alfredo of course
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| There I go again, steppin out of line, runnin' off course
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| I heard reports that it’s like sexual intercourse
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| With your thoughts when I talk about the shoes in which I walk
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| For it is not faux, nor false that this kid from the north, speaks with forced
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| supports of reinforced assaults
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| I’m sure by now you can assume he never lost
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| Unless it was some form of divorce, or a corpse
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| Born boss no days off, child labor
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| Let me see those in favor to spin that back like tornadoes
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| What, what the rap audience ain’t ready for, is a real person
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| You know what I wanna say, a real N-I-G-G-A. |
| I’m comin' at 'em a hundred
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| percent real. |
| I ain’t compromisin' nothin'
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| Anybody that talk about me got problems. |
| You know what I’m sayin'?
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| It’s gon' be straight up like if I was a street person.
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| That’s how I’m comin' at the whole world, and I’m bein' real about it and I’mma
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| grow wit' my music
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| Yeah, but it’s far from over
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| Won’t stop til' I meet Hova and my momma’s in a Rover
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| Til' I’m an owner of the world’s finest motors
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| I blow like super novas in your daughter’s room on a poster
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| Known as history’s biggest musical composer
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| No disrespect to Bob Mar, yeah, another stoner
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| Marijuana my odor, and when I get older
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| Hope my spermatozoa from my scrotum intercepts an ovum
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| Like 3 times, have 3 kids, I hope
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| Me &wife can show em not to make the same mistakes you know that we did
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| I hope they acknowledge the knowledge cuz yeah, they 'gon need it
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| Cuz when my fam tried to tell me, I just wouldn’t receive it
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| Couldn’t believe it, 'til I saw with my own pupils
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| Felt bad when I learned that the advice was truly useful
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| But fuck it, only made us as human beings more mutual
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| Even though over time, our punishments they grew more crucial
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| So use the word brutal, cuz my parents mad strict
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| Hope one day I’ll attracts the likes of even Madlib
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| Go call a mansion and hear my songs mastered
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| Until then, all I can do is imagine
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| Imagine
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| I’mma make it all happen |