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The Era
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Jarren Benton
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Uh, b*t*h I'm on a paper chase Blade underneath the bait Shut up b*t*h and eat the cake My little n***as squeeze the 'K I don't like the way the Yeezy's 350's fit me I know G's in Mississippi, b*t*hes sippin' [?] with me Paint the sky with brain matter Whip the foreign like a slave master The Wraith way faster, haters throwing shade at you Bad hoes, tanning on the patio I go pistachio for the dough and the flashy clothes I fly like a Harlem n***a, I need all them figures You know the guy to call a n***a if I got a problem with you Give me two feet, these n***as too sweet I'm with my b*t*h at the boutiques Every week cos she a shoe freak Yeah, I break bread while my n***as shake feds My iced up braclet, they washed up like K. Fed Hasta luego, was jealous cos Drake was f**king with J. Lo OG Bobby J put the barrel in the potato I'm not from a era with no motherf**king clowns No I come from a era where you had to hold it down And if you couldn't spit it when you did it then the realest wouldn't let you come around, let you come around No I'm not with them weirdo rapper that rock them gowns And all that f**k sh*t that misrepresent the town I'm from that Cuban link chain and solid gold fangs You know it when you hear the sound (Hey, hey)
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