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GOOD TO BE HOME II
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Kota the Friend
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[Intro] Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah [Verse] Dead winter in front of my auntie TV Watching BET, I'm loving the shit I see The Nas, Hovs, the Jas, the Biggies, the Puns They dream of making the league, I dream of sillier stuff School shopping, we hopping from VIM to Conway And this is right before the internets and MySpace The Facebooks and IG baddies all up in my face N64 is how I was spending my days Park water fountains, I grew up around Italians Big boss next door quiet, but he moved the loudest Sitting at the same stoop until he passed Smoking that cigar, never had a job Never said a word, never did a verb Only moved his car from curb to curb Murder shit occur, he heard it first In the '90s when people were getting thrown off rooftops Pop up in canals, helicopters was too hot My shorty at the time, she was living on New Lots My best friend was down on Church Ave, like two stops from Prospect Park Had to be away from Gates Ave before it get dark Clinton Hill, Fort Greene, where I honed my art Myrtle Ave, at the Five Spot, I had my start, yeah Rolling up the freestyle, me and my homie Mark Chatting 'bout how we gon' be richer than Tony Stark Sadiq was the Rasta, always rolling it proper Never really in school and always holding the contra RIP, brother We gon' choose to remember you as a peace lover Where I'm from, everybody got about three mothers Telling us to be careful, look after each other In the age of the Twittersphere and the cancel vultures I am 3D, nigga, you never see me At this point, I'm a pro and you still running with Pee-wee Never lose sleep over sheep, I'm Never rolling over in defeat, I Don't believe in anything I hear, I Only trust in half of what I see, I'm From a dying breed, I'm Happy that I'm me, I'm Happy that I found a little peace, I'm Happy mama kept me out the streets, uh Big Mike cut me every week Waves spinning out the chair and the cypher was complete, ah I'm the son of a hustler Know when to cash out, keep it going, and double up Sleep like a breastfed baby inside my comforter I'm on Myrtle, my brother, alert the trumpeters Playing spades and cashing up 'til the sun is up Brooklyn nigga, gon' let you know where we coming from, yeah
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