| I breathe through the pain and exhale for, single parent homes
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| Exhale crack addict withdrawls they can’t bear alone
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| Exhale smoke from the barrels of those bearin' chrome
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| Exhale for the slums where angels went there to roam
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| Wrote my first verse in a book of Tops
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| That rolled the weed that had the crooked cops tryna book my pops
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| He lived in a bottle, when he drank, I shook the spot
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| Wrote 3 16s for everytime he took a shot
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| Took it as a sign of confirmation
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| When Will’s brains was blown on the safe, couldn’t find the combination
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| Minor confrontations no longer pugilistic
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| We resolved 'em with the hugest biscuits
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| Understand — I seen too much not to address it
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| Held the tools that you got you undressin'
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| And I would exhale jewels and spot you this blessin'
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| Now, take a deep breath, be honest with yourself, and exhale when I drop you
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| this question —
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| When was the last time you breathed
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| Walked the streets without a vest and gat tucked in the sleeve
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| When was the last time you
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| Without the assist of alcohol or twistin' up leaves
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| This is season tickets to my pain, I invite you ingraduly
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| Show me a hero, and I’ll, write you a tragedy
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| If there’s bullet wounds, I’ma right through it’s cavity
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| Insightful and avidly up close and personal
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| I don’t draw pictures — I texturize the paint
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| To touch souls of soldiers next to risin' rank
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| That’s findin' it difficult to exercise restraint
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| 'Cause when it comes to whips, women, and extra pies, we can’t
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| Die broke, that’s some of our fears
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| Every summer y’all hear shells drops
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| 'Cause cats makin' sure they numbers are here
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| When there’s a hood, there’s a struggle
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| There with knuckles and gats, settle my several scuffles in an appropriate
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| manner
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| And if Soviet hammers, won’t hestitate
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| Patience is a virtue, that can six feet dirt you
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| And have your spirit leavin' Earth, and what’s even worse?
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| A lot stop breathin' before they mastered breathin' first
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| It goes one for Ken’s kite, two for twin light-skinned dykes
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| Three for T-Max with white pinstripes
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| Wish I could send 'em, Lord knows what your life’s been like
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| Five years in the beast with no ray of light in sight
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| But I’ma ride 'til the Good Lord put it in neutral
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| Keep extra clips fuller than usual
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| Cocksuckas that wanna pull it and shoot you
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| I’ma put a bullet in mutual, Channel 32 Fox bulletin news you
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| Speak to Marilyn Manson, crack is viable
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| Where atheists and Baptists rival
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| Home of evangelists and black disciples
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| And two-time felons that’s quick to carjack you with an ROTC practice rifle
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| Change the game, same rules to ref use
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| So F you, I refuse to leave until the impact I left’s huge
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| This here’s a redneck incestuous flow — son of your nephews |