RU: 0-9 А Б В Г Д Е Ж З И К Л М Н О П Р С Т У Ф Х Ц Ч Ш Щ Э Ю Я
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You know how we do, Roc-a-Fella... forever... You can catch me
skatin through your town puttin it down y`all relatin No waitin I`ll make your block infrared hot I`m like Satan Y`all feel a nigga`s struggle, y`all think a nigga love to hustle behind the wheel, tryin to escape my trouble kids stop they greetin me, I`m talkin sweet to keys Cursin the very God, that bought this wreath to be My life is, based on sacrifices, jewels like ices and fools that think I slip, you fuck around you get your guys hit, they built me to be filthy on some I-do-or-die shit, for real The price of leather`s got me, deeper than ever and just think, with this here, I`m tryin to feel made nig-ga Politics as us-ual... I took my Frito to Tito in the district, blessed me with some VS somethins I can live with, stop frontin And for the dough I raise, gotta get shit appraised No disrespect to you, make sure you word is true I`m takin wages down in Vegas just in case Tyson have a major night off, that`s clean money, the tax write-off You ain`t seen money in your life, when it comes to this cheese y`all like Three Blind Mice A smokin bro, who pump Willie Ike spokes The furthest you Chiles been is the Pocanos My portfolio reads: leads to Don Corleone, nigga please Ten year feleon, heavy on the wrist, our face used with the diamond blooded Jesus and blind your face youse for life... sharight, Jigga, I keep it tight nig-ga Politics as us-ual... You feel my triumph never, feel my pain I`m lyin Low in the leather Zion, the best that`s ever came The game changes like, my mind just ain`t right We `gwan get this dough, I guess it ain`t your night Suckin me in like a vacumn, I remember tellin my family I`ll be back soon, that was December Eighty-five and, Jay-Z rise ten years later got me wise still can`t break my underworld ties I wear black a lot, in the Ac`, act a lot Got matchin VCR`s, a huge Magnavox to nitch, green like spinach pop wines that`s vintage It`s a lot of big money in my sentence Hittin towards a mil`, lip a, written I kill like that chick faked me one-two cat, yeah, I do dat Ain`t no stoppin the champagne from poppin the drawers from droppin, the law from watchin, I hate em Politics as us-ual
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