| Got a Guns N' Roses T-shirt, and never listened to the band
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| Just being honest, I just thought that shit looked cool
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| Hold up, do you know who I am?
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| Turn the block to Woodstock
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| Retire? |
| Don’t think that I could stop
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| Jet-ski the way I ride the beat
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| And fuck your wave, I’ma die knowing that I did me
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| I got some words and I cannot let them die in me
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| This is arena status
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| Our bones end up in the ground, does it even matter?
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| Make some good music, get what you put in
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| Get out and go and leave the planet
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| Now what the hell did you think this is?
|
| We’re born, we’re dying, in-between we live
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| Love, prosper, hands to the sky, catch a gospel
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| Roll the dice, nah, I ain’t betting on tomorrow
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| Chain looking like Orion’s Belt
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| Jacket looking something like a lion pelt
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| Had to take a break and find myself
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| They put me in a box by myself
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| The same writers criticizing my rhymes
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| Are the same writers that I gentrify in Bed-Stuy
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| I can’t even see the hate, I should probably check my eyes
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| I got 50,000 phones pointed at me in the sky
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| Between a rock and a hard place
|
| Cold blunted with a stone face
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| Firebreather, firebreather
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| Born under a blood moon
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| But the sun is coming up soon
|
| Firebreather, firebreather
|
| Fire, fire, fire, fire, fire
|
| Firebreather, firebreather
|
| Fire, fire, fire, fire, fire
|
| Firebreather, yeah, firebreather
|
| What the fuck you think I’m doing it for?
|
| Hungry like it’s my rookie year, and I’m new to the sport
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| The game is tied up, they looking at you in the fourth
|
| Do you take the shot or pass it, this is ten-thousand hours
|
| And I’m working on my Master’s, liabilities, and assets
|
| And I’m showing up to practice, shooting early, getting baskets
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| There’s no father to my style, I’m just a freckle-faced bastard
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| An animal in the jungle, running, hunting with a habit (woo)
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| Abracadabra that motherfucker is magic
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| It’s '81 and Madonna is on me dancing
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| I’m sorry momma, I got it, I know I should mind my manners
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| I’d probably go double-platinum if I could think of an ad-lib
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| I’m jazz Prince, I rap a lot
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| I grew up on Scarface, now Brad’s my dawg (woo)
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| Irish goodbye, sayonara and we mobbin'
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| Put the nail in the coffin, motherfucker, I’m on one
|
| Between a rock and a hard place
|
| Cold blunted with a stone face
|
| Firebreather, firebreather
|
| Born under a blood moon
|
| But the sun is coming up soon
|
| Firebreather, firebreather
|
| Fire, fire, fire, fire, fire
|
| Firebreather, firebreather
|
| Fire, fire, fire, fire, fire
|
| Firebreather, yeah, firebreather |