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need
Brand new Chris Brown, T-Pain
You heard it hear first Nappy Boy Radio
We love you

Hey,

[Chorus]
She want that lovey dovey 
That
It's you and me on a beach
In 1998
Leaning into the breeze
From the willows
And rhythm and grace are reborn in this place
I'm assured
man got 10 mail man got 3
And just your luck the rap game got me hold up

[Juelz Santana]
Here we go again just spent a hundred of that brown paper
six different strands
would lock together locked forever
rockin leathery wood told you chicken and cris go good
with some watermelon albums sellin
(performed by jackson browne and bonnie raitt on the pete seeger tribute album where have all the flowers gone;1998)

Jackson:
When I was a young man
you'd feel'
What if I was go'n forever''
No more chocolate kisses,
No nappy dugout ever,
No mamma,no daughter,no sister,no
No sister friends
Tell me
the same
And by 1998 we still had game.

[verse 3]

Only a pawn in the game
Chastised for namin names
What was said and who said it
Anti nothing so forget it
In the back of my Lincoln
With the suicide doors
Dere a huh
Ha ha t-pain j lyriq nappy boy
Hit me on my hot line
I am a slob on the 9
Oh
Baby
money, that i.r.s can tax money you dig me

Just made a hundred of that brown paper bag money
I thank god for the meal he prepared for me
Taking my fam
[verse 1]
Played in Cincinnati
Wit my whole head nappy
Made a rally in the street
Wit nothin but a beat
Gotta grudge against a judge
Kick em out that
Played in Cincinnati
With my whole head nappy
Made a rally in the street
With nothin' but a beat
Gotta grudge against a judge
Kick em out that
to your city
619 909 homies tell me 'Are you with Me'
Bumping Lake Side with the Brown Bride through these city streets
With phat ass rides and homies
In the back of my Lincoln with the suicide doors
Yeah, a-huh
T-Pain, J Lyriq, Nappy Boy
Hit me on my hot line, I'm celebrity nine, so hustle, ooo
other nigga
And I don't love other niggas
But I love other niggas bitches
I love 20-inches on everything I sit in
I love my nappy hair
I love
Keep the change, got to go
Flirt, tryna talk dirty
Georgia-bred, you can tell by my Hawk jersey
Hit me up if you get off early
Then I dap out, so
money, that i.r.s can tax money you dig me

Just made a hundred of that brown paper bag money
I thank god for the meal he prepared for me
Taking my fam
was cold, didn't see Yellowstone is was closed
Well the albums coming soon, matter fact June
Hit my page, give me your thoughts on the tunes
sleep 
Very unclever ways to get paid by lucky, government detectives 
And agencies they hunt me, so funny how I never thought 
Credit would just slump
just a taste from the Funky Human Being
Ain't no misbehavin', ain't no use for ravin'
Surrounded by the people who would stab me in the back
My skin
it to the game before it's halftime
Ten stacks for the seats or you can have mine
Never seated by a snitch, they give me bad vibes
Pop a bottle
push they blow out
A slicker nigga pig, dig me picking my fucking 'fro out
Limping up the one tree fives
The p-jects
The eject these herbs
That's word
conjunction with Violator Entertainment
Bring to you, Foxy Brown
The album

"What the hell do you think I'm runnin' here, a chicken coop?"

Foxy,
is just the guy to lead a crew
Right up to your face and diss you
Everyone saw me on the last album cover
Holding a pistol something far from
there with my nappy hair and my dirty gear, aw yeah 
Now I'm up outta here 
Pigs look me up and down with a frown 
Is it 'cause I'm brown or is it I'm
there with my nappy hair and my dirty gear, awww yeah
Now I'm up outta here
Pigs look me up and down with a frown
Is it 'cause I'm brown or is it niggaz

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