| You know if there’s one thing I don’t like it’s fraud activity
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| On every journey, seem like the farther I go, the farther I am from where I’m
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| tryna be
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| So maybe I’m going in the wrong direction
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| So I gotta set 'em straight in the 9−8
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| Yeah we gonna do it like this
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| 15 rounds and the gloves to match
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| A lotta these fools keep dying for scratch
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| All I wanna do is get paid for good
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| But too many haters rolling through my hood
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| It’s like, I’m tryna get from point A to point B
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| Motherfucking feds still watching me
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| I’m still on paper from my last lick
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| Rough street life got me pumped up to blast quick
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| 2 o’clock on the block, I’m pulled over, damn it
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| I red light a mile back, the cop said I ran it
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| I ain’t a slave to the grave, I just had to send him
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| Six shooter in my lap, I put five in him
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| The heat iron heat defeats novacane
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| To degrees where even death can’t stop the pain
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| Gain momentum when the heat started dumpin in him
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| And then I’ma bit 'im like a snake when I’m pumping venom
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| The murderistic, realistic
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| Let my fist get deeper in his grill cuz I’m twisted
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| I’ma show you, all the dirt that K-Rino do
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| «Duck!» |
| You see the type of shit I gots to go through?
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| I’m trippin'
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| 15 rounds and the gloves to match
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| A lotta these fools keep dying for scratch
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| All I wanna do is get paid for good
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| But too many haters rollin through my hood
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| It’s like, I stepped in the mosque back in '92
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| Got the real scoop on the red, white, and blue
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| It provided me with deep thoughts to rap about
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| Ain’t no choir 'cause it ain’t shit to clap about
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| I had a dream I was in a shootout one night
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| Fool started cockin' up 'cause they was scared to fight
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| I tried to run but my feet couldn’t handle the test
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| I felt a sharp pain blast right through my chest
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| I hit the ground tryna fight for what I had left
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| I felt the essence of my life removin' itself
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| My homeboy standing over me, cryin' and shit
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| I’m losing focus in my eyes, going blind and shit
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| I raised up, wooo, damn it was only a dream
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| Trippin over how realistic a vision could seem
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| Was I really about to be received by the dirt?
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| How come I woke up with that bloodstain on my shirt?
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| Trippin'
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| 15 rounds and the gloves to match
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| A lotta these fools keep dying for scratch
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| All I wanna do is get paid for good
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| But too many haters rolling through my hood
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| (Knowledge)
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| In 1555 they put us on a ship
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| Thousands of miles across the water, that’s a long trip
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| Strip the knowledge itself, devils flip the script
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| Rip the shirt off my back and commence to whip
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| Murder to he or she who fought for the right to be free
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| Raping the sister while they hung the brother from a tree
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| Burning the body of the victim to ash and dust
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| And at the same time teaching religion to us
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| Emancipation proclamation, they let us go
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| Only to make conditions worse than they was befo'
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| 'Cause even though our asses are no longer in chains
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| They wrapped the motherfuckers smooth around our brains
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| Poverty stricken conditions lead to criminal shit
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| «We're equal now»…got your ass subliminal shit
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| If your great granddaddy could come from the past
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| And hear you bumpin' that bullshit he’d slam yo ass
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| 'Cause just imagine how our first ancestors felt
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| Being deceived back in Africa, sold and dealt
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| They had to pay with their life for us to walk today
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| 400 years later still ain’t left point A
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| Trippin'
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| Tryna get from point A to point B
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| I’m tryna get from point A to point B
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| I’m tryna get from point A to point B
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| I’m tryna get from point A to point B |