| Rainy nights, streetlights
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| Ideal situation for this presentation
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| PowerPoint, crumbling that flower to roll a joint
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| Disassemble your empire in an hour
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| Dissolve that shit if it don’t involve my clique
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| We want all of this, coward quick throw in yo towel
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| You’re not built, you not equipped
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| Fucker you might get kicked
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| You don’t really stand that tall homie you on stilts
|
| And when the real get revealed, oh man
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| That mask get pealed off, damn
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| You got a real issue on your hands
|
| You got soldiers awaiting command
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| Getting in serious shit with bad leadership
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| That only leads to defeated cliques, defeated chips
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| And I ain’t tryna see that shit
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| I gotta keep this circle of bosses really close nit
|
| Homie and you know this
|
| Smoking, reminiscing Tony coked up
|
| Damn life fucked up even when you blow up
|
| Late nights in my testarossa
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| Hope the po-po's, don’t roll up on us
|
| I don’t know if they gone try and smoke us
|
| In the club where gold diggers approach us
|
| Thinking they gone try and come up on us
|
| This shit ain’t no different from your corners
|
| Skyhigh, paper to the ceiling
|
| Lord what is this feeling like a coke rush
|
| And I’m drugging not dealing getting high of the thousand dollar band peeling
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| Hit a corner in my Impala
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| Three wheeling, parked it just to start a Ferrari
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| Heard some hoes is brokenhearted
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| But baby I’m sorry
|
| I’m all about this money darling
|
| Stuntin', ballin', all through New Orleans
|
| You know that bitch wanna be where them stars is
|
| Hundred thousand dollar cars is
|
| Bars is laced with that raw, get a taste, you astonished
|
| Hooked on it, totally lost in them murky waters where them sharks swim
|
| Clown get drown while we forever on some don shit looking down
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| I’m on a yacht, Binoculars out
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| Islands I spot, we finna plot on it
|
| Yeah, Smoking, reminiscing Tony coked up
|
| Damn life fucked up even when you blow up
|
| Late nights in my testarossa
|
| Hope the po-po's, don’t roll up on us
|
| I don’t know if they gone try and smoke us
|
| In the club where gold diggers approach us
|
| Thinking they gone try and come up on us
|
| This shit ain’t no different from your corners |