Check, check, check. 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2.
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Diamonds hang around my neck; the crib is all finished.
No love for these bitches I said this year is all business.
It is a shame that a couple of them are off limits. No offense to my nigga.
It’s just the industry small, we all lust for the same women.
You know the ones we saw before we came in it.
I know he ain’t trippin’.
I know I got a couple things that Lil Wayne dipped in.
Ain’t afraid to admit it: I be the same with it.
This shit is all about hits and misses.
The ones that you fuck and the ones you wife up.
Just don’t let them fuck your life up.
Half a mil to perform, I can’t let em fuck that shit up.
Plus I love the way my middle name looks when it’s lit up.
Jim Moore got me dressing like a leading man.
A little favour for a friend when I need a hand.
Young Frank, suits cut right always.
Just got a couple Warhols for my hallways.
New verses crush the hood like I’m driving into somethin.
Bitches on the kid like I’m Iverson or somethin.
Like a Sixer since I sold six eighty in my first.
Drizzy Drake, the only one that got the gift without the curse.
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