| Whose world is this?
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| The world is yours, the world is yours
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| It’s mine, it’s mine, it’s mine
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| Whose world is this?
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| It’s yours!
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| It’s mine, it’s mine, it’s mine
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| Whose world is this?
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| The world is yours, the world is yours
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| It’s mine, it’s mine, it’s mine
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| Whose world is this?
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| I sip the Dom P, watchin Gandhi til I’m charged
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| Then writin in my book of rhymes, all the words pass the margin
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| To hold the mic I’m throbbin, mechanical movement
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| Understandable smooth shit that murderers move wit
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| The thief’s theme, play me at night, they won’t act right
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| The fiend of hip-hop has got me stuck like a crack pipe
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| The mind activation, react like I’m facin time like
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| 'Pappy'Mason with pens I’m embracin
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| Wipe the sweat off my dome, spit the phlegm on the streets
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| Suede Timb’s on my feets, makes my cypher, complete
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| Whether crusin in a six-cab, or Montero Jeep
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| I can’t call it, the beats make me fallin asleep
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| I keep fallin, but never fallin six feet deep
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| I’m out for presidents to represent me (Say what?)
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| I’m out for presidents to represent me (Say what?)
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| I’m out for dead presidents to represent me Whose world is this?
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| The world is yours, the world is yours
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| It’s mine, it’s mine, it’s mine
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| Whose world is this?
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| The world is yours, the world is yours
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| It’s mine, it’s mine, it’s mine
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| Whose world is this?
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| It’s yours!
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| It’s mine, it’s mine, it’s mine
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| Whose world is this?
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| The world is yours, the world is yours
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| It’s mine, it’s mine, it’s mine
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| Whose world is this?
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| To my man Ill Will, God bless your life
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| It’s yours!
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| To my peoples throughout Queens, God bless your life
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| I trip we box up crazy bitches aimin guns in all my baby pictures
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| Beef with housin police, release scriptures that’s maybe Hitler’s
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| Yet I’m the mild, money gettin style, rollin foul
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| The versatile, honey stickin wild, golden child
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| Dwellin in the Rotten Apple, you get tackled
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| Or caught by the devil’s lasso, shit is a hassle
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| There’s no days, for broke days, we sell it, smoke pays
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| While all the old folks pray, to Je-sus'soakin they sins in trays
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| of holy water, odds against Nas are slaughter
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| Thinkin a word best describin my life, to name my daughter
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| My strength, my son, the star, will be my resurrection
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| Born in correction all the wrong shit I did, he’ll lead a right direction
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| How ya livin large, a broker charge, cards are mediocre
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| You flippin coke or playin spit spades in strip poker
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| It’s yours!
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| It’s mine, it’s mine, it’s mine
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| Whose world is this? |