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(AZ) Baby bring that ashtray in here |
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Aiight |
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(AZ) And bring my mail it's on top of the counter |
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Here baby |
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(AZ) Check, what's this |
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I don't know some mail came thru today |
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(AZ) Fishscale, Professional, what's this about men |
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lemme see what this about |
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Anyway, the food will be ready in 20 minutes |
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Peace Allah, hope tha scribe reach ya hands in good health |
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As for self, no sense of worrying my cards been dealt |
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Sunk in a cell, fishscale, fifth year of my bid |
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Finally got a chance recent to connect with my kids |
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It's kinda hard thru carelessness I scared they moms |
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And temporary I was barred voluntary the bond |
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Nevertheless, it's issues I need to address |
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Pertaining the certain statements that made me confess |
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Faced with life, it bites when reality hit |
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And wit crime come a lot of technicality shit |
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Thru many co-defendants conspiracies linking |
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Like the court system designed to keep the mind from thinking |
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Fog ya vision, guess it's just the odds of living |
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But like me, most great men became god in prison |
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Since Illmatic, first heard ya bars of life |
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I was up in Cansaki, *****s started to fight |
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You touched souls to a lost population of men |
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And no doubt, if ever out they'll never lock me again |
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Faced wit 10 on state time, wit life on the back |
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It's ****ed up when your own folks ain't writing you back |
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Learn to relax, spoke wit certain cats that helped adapt |
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You know the streets to the pen it's kinda hard to transact |
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All the cars and the pretty women, condos, |
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The clothes and the city living |
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I seen division, breakdown of the population |
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It's either submit, death or incarceration I felt the combination |
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Torn between reality rap and the fakes |
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Some do it for the salary cap few relate |
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And been thru what I been thru at least in fraction |
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So when they spit you could feel the passion I see you maxin' |
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That Nas and that Jigga riff started some shit |
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It departed the prison system we should argue a bit |
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It's a glimpse of what's to come |
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The past follow, hold the voice just hunger me holdin' my last bottle |
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I live like that of a star without the title, I had to write you |
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It's beyond trying to enlight you |
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It's a token of appreciation for being that poet with no abbreviations |
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Much respect from us all wish you much success |
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Get yours take money nigga **** the rest I'm signing off |
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And leave in the way that I greet and say peace |
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Keep in mind always rep the streets, you that nigga. |
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Word,........... Gotta write homey back |
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(AZ) Ayo, boo I got any more of that mail out there |
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Got a few more |
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(AZ) You gotta read this one, the shit right here is deep, man |
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Alright, gimme a minute |
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(AZ) Okay, What's this one right here |
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oh shortie from Nashville, alright lemme see this |
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AZ, this is Camille since Sugarhill been a fan |
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And since then to me you still a man |
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A real card player rarely reveals his hand |
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And sincerely, I could say the hood feel ya jam |
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I sit and listen to your last edition |
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Washing dishes in the kitchen |
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Or twisting the baby dreads on little Christian |
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It's so sickening his father we both miss him |
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He was killed in a '99 car collision |
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I guess the best ones God get them the tar sniff 'em |
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It's just the way it is in this bizarre system |
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You remind me of his one concerning words when you speak |
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You and him both got that funny type of slur in y'all speech |
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At night it's like his face just emerge in my sleep |
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I smoke herb so that grief can stop disturbing my peace |
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My life's deep, it coincide with the way that you rap |
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I hate it when them commentators say that you back |
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You never left you was always years ahead of the rest |
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My baby-father even felt your style he say you was best |
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How you dress how you move when you in the public |
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Without a lot of luggage gotta love it that's how you thug it... |
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Know that, that's right, it's bigboy, okay, okay |