| Damn, thank god momma son made it at twenty three
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| Still remembering a struggle hidden deep in me
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| Momma gone, ain’t no single daddy memory
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| I became my own man the age of seventeen
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| Trying make this money flip like it’s a trampoline
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| I was hard headed, grandfather diabetic
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| I was trying do it big, like I was Faith Evans
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| Praying to the heavens, I can see my daughter smile
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| Know she watching now that daddy rip this record down
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| Know I love you baby, tell my god I said whatup'
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| And know I seen em' just meeting ends, so my family up
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| I should pray harder, instead I tote a pistol
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| Speed dollar killers running if I ever whistle
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| Real nigga, that’s just my genetics
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| Hustle hard got my money doing calisthenics
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| I stretch paper, every dollar bill
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| Hook:
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| Niggas cry tears, when I see my first mill (First Mill)
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| Bad bitch wit' me bet she know the drill
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| Bad bitch wit' me bet she know the drill
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| Bad bad bitch wit' me bet she know the drill
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| The Game:
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| I gotta' bad bitch wit' me, and she know the drill
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| And she know my ex, X pill
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| She only listen to me, Ace, and Meek Mill
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| I told her tat my name on it, so I know it’s real
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| She know the value of a dollar bill
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| She know how real or fake them counterfeit hunded’s feel
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| She know the difference between Derrick Rose and D-Wade
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| She know the difference between being broke and stayin', paid
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| She know the difference between vuve and spades
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| She know the difference between warrants and raids
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| Never confuse when talkin' Glocks and dem' K’s
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| Show her the shoe, she put a number on dem' J’s
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| Like, it dem' is cool grays
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| I’m like, dem' is cool shades
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| I’m like, dem' is Spike Lee’s
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| She like, yeah schooldays
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| And she bang the documentary still
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| Said that motherfucka' cold, yeah, Buffalo Bill
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| Hook:
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| Meek Mill:
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| I ain’t never ran from nobody, and I never will
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| Lunch time on these niggas, cuz' I’m on my second meal
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| I just dropped a mixtape, lookin' like my second deal
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| Club LIV, thirty bottles, and I’m on my second bill
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| And I be gettin' high as my electric bill
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| Ask bout' me in the hood, they say I’m extra real
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| Cuz' ain’t nobody never rob me, I ain’t never squeal
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| And ain’t nobody never try, my niggas love to kill
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| Ridin' round wit' chuck, but it ain’t a game though
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| My black wall niggas told me you a lame though
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| The Glock got a beam on it, like Kano
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| Banana clips and lemon squeeze’s, just to split your mango
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| My down bitch, never count the counterfeit
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| Cuz' you know the real from fake, I had to 'round some shit
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| Before I ever thought of rap, I had a pound to get
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| And the piece is steel, I never thought I see a mill
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| Hook: |