It's 2 o' clock, I'm just about to hit the streets.
Until I knock off this rock, I don't get to eat.
Sometimes, it's like that's the only reason why I hustle. Step on toes, strong-arm, show a little muscle.
Ain't no real dough, that's why a bitch feel so frustrated, hate it, seeing bitches that made it.
And I'm robbin' bitches just as broke as myself.
Fuckin' with Queens ain't too good for a bitch's health.
Where's the wealth? It ain't in New York.
I gots to make my rounds, do whatever for the dollar.
You know me.
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