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("Cause ain't no fiends coming in between me an my dreams
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See what I mean black? I gets the paper")
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Microphone thugs flip keys and shit
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Remember the 80's when niggas was acting crazy?
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The mean streets raised me
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I used to live dangerously
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Admist crack selling armed dangerous felons
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Plus murderers drug spot burglars
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Niggas doing anything to acquire that paper
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Live the life of crime but got saved by the rhyme
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Peace to all my niggas doing time on top of time
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Plus the ones gunned down in their prime
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I made it this far because of divine design
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Diamond chains the sun still outshines
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I get you drunk off my drink like that champaigne wine
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As long as there's breath left, I father the fatherless
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If shit was real Brooklyn would snatch that chain off your chest
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Don't fess, we know why you rock that vest
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Hard on records, but really pussy, check it
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I do this for me, and not the paper, strictly 100%
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("Cause ain't no fiends coming in between me an my dreams
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See what I mean black? I gets the paper")
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It started way before Super Rhymes
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Peace to mom dukes for enduring hard times
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God bless all the victims of my past life crimes
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I do this for the ghetto youth living like Good Times
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Flipping rhymes saved me from the obvious traps
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In '97 studio hustlers puch crack on wax
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And breaking backs, but faking jacks
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If it wasn't for contracts, they wouldn't bust caps
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So, destroy your people and collect huge stacks
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Fat axe, and platinum plaques
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Come bring it back, rewind it that old gangster bullshit
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Got the youth running around criminal minded
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Not a player hater, just don't chase the paper
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Got a little deal so some heads caught the vapors
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So stupid motherfuckers throw your guns in the air
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To all my niggas that ain't make it past their 19th year
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I do it for me, and not the paper, stictly 100%, nah mean?
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("Cause ain't no fiends coming in between me an my dreams
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See what I mean black? I gets the paper")
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Sinister plots, every week who got shot
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Spots like the Enterprise kept the neighborhood hot
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Niggas bugging out so some receive toe tags
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Resting up north with fag or sporting shit bags
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When I think back it's so sad
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All the niggas that I had, who'd ever figure that it'd get so bad?
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So I retreat with a pen and a pad
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Hide your chain when you ride the train
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For writing rhymes about automatic weapons
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I'd rather steer the youth in the right direction
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Drop a bomb, destroy the temple's ?sen section?
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Little girls already sexing
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Hard rock shorties is flexing
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But I stick to my lessons, no stress
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Cause if shit was real, Brooklyn would snatch that chain off your chest
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Don't fess, we know why you rock that vest
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Hard on records, but really pussy, check it
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I do this for me, and not the paper, strictly 100%, know what I'm saying?
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("Cause ain't no fiends coming in between me an my dreams
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See what I mean black? I gets the paper")
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-----------------
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Me Not The Paper
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Jeru the Damaja |