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(I know you may find this hard to believe, but not everyone wants to go to Yale, because not everyone wants to be Blair Waldorf) (Not everyone can be) I still ran up some money You can't do a show in London Pump fake, then his ass start jumpin' Money spread, got racks, them hundreds Stick poke out like Tim Duncan Yeah, you know you not hard, stop frontin' Big-big 'Tect, yeah, I'm the one Feel like I'ma crash, feel like I'ma plunge Me and my twin rock out like grunge I had nothin', had to make it somethin' Take that boy gun beforе his stick get bumped You fell for thе bait, that lil' boy dumb I love when the chop catch up, it look dumb Got piles of money, these racks in clumps 808 Heartbreak and you hearin' the drums? Duckin' your head, you hearin' them guns? B-B-Brink's truck and it's carryin' tons My blood foreign, we speakin' in tongues I carry heat like the Suns, yeah Don't try run up, don't you dare Ball Hog gang, we rare We go up like stairs My ho gossipin' like Blair Letras de cancionesShe want me to pay for her hair We boxed the whip, I need some air My hood dangerous, don't stay here Ball Hog, baby, I don't have no fear Glock with a switch, I'ma make shit clear I'm off codeine, it's hard to steer Big-ass diamonds in my ear My ho gossipin' like Blair She want— Uh Uh Uh, uh, uh, yeah (I know you may find this hard to believe, but not everyone wants to go to Yale, because not everyone wants to be Blair Waldorf) (Not everyone can be) From Letras Mania