| Daydreamin' of dirt bikes, and four wheelers
|
| Shoppin' sprees at the diamond dealer
|
| Hats and jackets, shirts, pants and sneakers
|
| That brand new car smell, we schemin'
|
| Daydreamin' of penthouses in L. A
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| The illest yachts, the hottest broads they make
|
| Can’t wait 'til it’s my turn to get dough
|
| So I don’t gotta fuckin' daydream no more
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| Coming up we ain’t have much, a lot of canned food
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| Cereal in the white box, with powdered milk too
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| My moms couldn’t buy me the shoes I want
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| We put lay-away on shit that only cost a few bucks
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| At school, they had Shell Toes, I had Olympians
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| With the weak ass velcro, looking ridiculous
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| I knew, way back then, we had to step it up
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| Cause waiting for the bus in the snow wasn’t us
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| Me and Hav' took the train from Manhattan to Coney
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| Every day and night, just so we can get our songs done
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| We had guns, weed, and a couple of fourties
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| If we got lucky on the way, we could jook someone
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| We used to watch Video Music Box
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| And pray maybe one day, we could get a shot
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| Outside, my niggas had all that shit you see on TV
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| From money that they made off the block
|
| Daydreamin' of dirt bikes, and four wheelers
|
| Shoppin' sprees at the diamond dealer
|
| Hats and jackets, shirts, pants and sneakers
|
| That brand new car smell, we schemin'
|
| Daydreamin' of penthouses in L. A
|
| The illest yachts, the hottest broads they make
|
| Can’t wait 'til it’s my turn to get dough
|
| So I don’t gotta fuckin' daydream no more
|
| My day dreams, is more like nightmares
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| A vigi, bullet proof cars, supped up time shares
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| My friends did a turn cause it’s not they turn
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| Or how the streets gonna be, when they release fur
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| When I get that million bucks, will I remain the same
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| Or will I have to get at niggas cause they sayin' I changed
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| Will everybody wanna ball, be my friend and leech
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| When niggas put me to the test, have me clapping the heat
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| I used to think bein' rich, ain’t all that bad
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| A far cry from what a dream, was all I had
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| Do I got the right team, or they riding for cash
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| Would they jump in front of me, when them cameras flash
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| Is the 'pop police, gon' be up my ass
|
| Can’t leave the heat under the seat, gotta find a better stash
|
| Gotta collect receipts cause that bitch Uncle Sam
|
| Invades your space when you evade his tax
|
| Daydreamin' of dirt bikes, and four wheelers
|
| Shoppin' sprees at the diamond dealer
|
| Hats and jackets, shirts, pants and sneakers
|
| That brand new car smell, we schemin'
|
| Daydreamin' of penthouses in L. A
|
| The illest yachts, the hottest broads they make
|
| Can’t wait 'til it’s my turn to get dough
|
| So I don’t gotta fuckin' daydream no more |