| Get in the ship, we’re about to take off!
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| OK, I, I’m coming
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| Here we go, up, up and away!
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| (One, two, two, two)
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| (Beats to Dabrye)
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| (Jealous shit)
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| Yo, uh, without fame, I’m making the rhyme hall
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| Spiked slimeballs, peddlin' signoffs
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| Tryna eat off the plate like wide balls
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| Razor the back of the blunt, no
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| Fire, it don’t get no flyer
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| Vodka, splash of papaya
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| No, I don’t preach to the choir
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| Even when my life look dire
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| I kept that tunnel vision, money mission
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| Peace to my bloodline
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| We need them plates, all fixin’s
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| We need sides and all, survived every rise and fall
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| The best daddy
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| Screamin' «Fuck 'em all!» |
| like a sex addict
|
| More ties than a dress jacket
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| I clean up good, I’m doin' dirt wit' the dirt doers
|
| In a beat up hood', Guilt'
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| We out there
|
| Get it together, get it together
|
| Get it together, get it together
|
| Yo, uh, yo, I told y’all I’m special
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| Unique, one of one, none other, run for cover
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| Baby motherfucker
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| Wit' yo better half rollin' grams
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| Raise arms like a show of hands
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| So advanced, I’m deep wit' it
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| You should roll ya pants up
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| Pickup stronger than a Dodge Ram truck
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| Wit' the weight in the back, we take what we lack
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| Catch me in the club wit' the greats pourin' 'gnac
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| Like we own the joint, truth tellers
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| Never affected by the new sellers
|
| Same shit in a new get up
|
| I tell my engineer, «Loop that up
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| And go in like it’s flu weather.»
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| AD’s the family, no crew’s better
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| I bet that against whoever |