| I’mma do it like this, I’mma do it like that
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| I’mma do it like this, I’mma do it like that
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| I’mma do it like this, I’mma do it like that
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| I’mma do it like this, I’mma do it like that
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| 9th Wonder on the track, fact
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| Chilling up in the house on my Cordoroy Couch
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| Mama, papa went out, free crib, what it’s about
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| In the heart of Bedstuy, just imagine the feeling
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| Art all over my wall, keep hearing closer to the ceiling
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| TV stuff on the TV, The Wayans Brothers on repeat
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| Or Jamie Foxx on Centric, always catch my attention
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| Stepping outside of my room, on my way to the kitchen
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| Ain’t eat nothing since morning, now my stomach is twitching
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| Ate it back in my room, finding something to rock
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| Sneaking out to the hangout, mom don’t condone the block
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| Stepping outside the door, gotta stop by the store
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| The Koreans is mad, African buyers galore
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| Hold up, there go the bus, can’t wait another second
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| It’s too hot to be patient, pay for my snack and I’m jetting
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| On my way to the bush bumping my music loud
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| A dude interrupts my jam, tells me about his style
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| Then he hands me a card, I’m mean mugging him hard
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| He made me stop my song right on my favorite part
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| Finally off the bus, walking slow up the ave
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| Delli’s and golden crust, Jamaicans dollar (?)
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| Stop and get me some peaches, then I head to LeBron’s
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| Homie open the door, say what’s up to his moms
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| Put my bag on the floor, then we compose a beat
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| After like 30 minutes go see what’s up in the street
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| There go (?) started up a game of tabs
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| T-A-P to my zip, y’all know that ranger wack
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| Like an hour get passed, then we starting to get hungry
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| Back in LeBron crib, he usually got the munchies
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| Everything going good until my mama call
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| Say she on the way home and ask what I want from the store
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| I say nothing, she hang up, then I’m grabbing my stuff
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| Ain’t even said goodbye, heading straight for the bus
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| I snuck up outta the house, and my mama Jamaican
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| The bus still ain’t arrived, ain’t no time to be waiting
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| So I run to the crib, put my key in the door
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| Then I look to the sky and pray she ain’t get here before
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| Started turning the knob, seems like the coast was clear
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| Looking in the living room, there was nobody there
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| Then I go to my room and now I’m tripping out
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| My mama sitting with a belt on my cordoroy couch |