| Yeah, Harlem, Bronx, Brooklyn
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| Let’s make a bet, I know the reason you ain’t make it yet
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| You say you set, but you ain’t see the tedious ingredients
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| That go inside of a rider, you hiding from problems and
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| You never knew how to make dollars
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| You couldn’t make orders at a drive-through McDonald’s
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| I was fly at the Apollo with black Jason, '89 with a bottle
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| Niggas jealous of Jason, dark green seven forty, no tint
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| Rollie on wrist, gleaming he rock the baldy
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| Used to ride with him to Brooklyn, Lewis, and Halsey
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| Cop chocolate thai, Vernon style and burn it down
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| My nigga hype in the federal joint, verdict out
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| 20 years getting money in the dirty south
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| That’s alleged, you see my nigga’s a stand up dude
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| So I’m yelling free my nigga
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| My nephew godfather Malik, he jammed up too
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| For what his hands usually call for, but he ain’t do it
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| Who you are ain’t in the recipe to what I am
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| Cause where I’m from, man, what I see
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| You wouldn’t understand where I been and what I do
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| No matter how you try you never can
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| Cause where I’m from and what I see
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| You wouldn’t understand where I been, where I been
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| You ever been on the other end of a robber’s revolver?
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| Not me, call me Lucky Nas Casalana
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| All been shot in the medulla oblongata and survived
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| And praised God with a bullet, I never collided
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| Some did and they lived, I salute the gods
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| Moet spilling, splash my mistake on my Timb boots for y’all
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| N.Y. nigga, Adidas, jogging suit
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| Shelltoes, slim, fly nigga
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| Hudson River, rent a boat, t-shirt with a dinner coat
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| A vintage Fila like I’m the ghost of Domencio
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| On any day getting throwed in a tinted vehicle
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| Like a old BK gangsta, but I’m the CEO
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| Of Nasty Nas Enterprise, mastermind, made men
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| My success symbolizes loyalty, great friends
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| Dedication, hard work, routine builds character
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| In a world full of snakes, rats and scavengers
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| Never make choices out of desperation, I think through it
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| Break through walls like Pink Floyd
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| And drink fluids of all kind of alcohol, y’all
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| Vineyards in France, yachts out in Cannes
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| Who you are ain’t in the recipe to what I am
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| Cause where I’m from, man, what I see
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| You wouldn’t understand where I been and what I do
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| No matter how you try you never can
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| Cause where I’m from and what I see
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| You wouldn’t understand where I been, where I been
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| Now holla at a millionaire
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| Rollie, Hublot and Audemar, deciding which one to wear
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| Who to screw, what to drive, 550 with the cream guts inside
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| Or the Super Sport Range truck is fly
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| Diamond ring on my knuckles like fire, bitch
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| Gat’s on us, I don’t really trust these guys
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| Spend a couple bucks a night on bottles on cuties
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| If she beautiful, the lustful type, I’ll hit it and bust inside
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| Fuck it, I’ma die one day, they gon' probably make that day a holiday
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| Until then, let’s go on a shopping spree
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| Speaking for my real niggas, only OGs
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| Certified who kill niggas when put in that seat
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| But tonight we on chill, nigga, chill mode
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| Spill more Spades, listen to Jeezy and Hov, some Rozay
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| It’s like we always on the grind with no brakes
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| So tonight we gon' act like we on vacation with this on rotation
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| Who you are ain’t in the recipe to what I am (word)
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| Cause where I’m from, man, what I see
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| You wouldn’t understand where I been and what I do
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| (Y'all wouldn’t understand)
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| No matter how you try you never can
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| (You wouldn’t last a day in my shoes, homie)
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| Cause where I’m from and what I see (yeah)
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| You wouldn’t understand where I been, where I been
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| True B nigga, yeah
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| For my hood niggas, yeah, yeah
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| To my man Eric B., what up, yeah
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| The whole city, I see you
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| To my man Big Slate in the fed joint
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| My man Spunk, free my niggas
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| All my niggas, yeah
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| Club Vernon, I see you
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| I see you, yeah
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| And Baltum, I see you |