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Nas - Street Dreams lyrics
Chorus: Street dreams are made of these niggas pushin' bimas and 300 e's a drug dealer destiny is reaching the keys Everyody's looking for something Street dreams are made of these shorties on their knees<b> </b>for niggas with big g's Who am I to disagree Everybody' looking for something My man put me up for the share<b> </b>on fourth of a square headed for delaware<b> </b>with one change of gear nothing on my mind<b> </b>but the dime sack we blazed with thw glaze in my ete, that we find when we crave dollars and cents, a fugutive with two attempts Jakes had no trace of the face now they drew a print though I'm innocent till proven guilty I'm gonna try to filthy, purchase a club And start up a realty for real g, I'm a fullfill my dream If I conceal my scheme then precisely I'll build my cream the first tip without the clique, send the bitch With the quarter brick, this is it fresh face, n.y. plate got a crooked eye for them jakes I want it all, armorall benz with endless papes for God's sakes what nigga got to do to make a half million without the FBI catchin' feeling Chorus From fat cat to pappy niggas see the cat, 25 to flat push a thousand feet back holding gats wasn't making me fat snitches on my back living with my moms, getting it on flushing crack down toilet two sips from being alcoholic nine hundred ninety nine thou for being rich but now I'm all for it my man saw it like Dionne warmick a wiser team, for a wiser dream We could all score with the cartel argentina coke with the nine up in a hotel smoking on sesamina trina got the fish scale between her the way the bitch shook her ass yo the dogs never seen her she got my back living sweeter, fresh caesar guess, David robinson, wally moccasins bitches blow me while hopping in the drop top bm word is born son, I had the bitch down on my shit like this Chorus blowing up projects struck, looking for luck dreaming scoping, the large niggas beaming check what I'm seeing cars, ghetto stars pushing I'll europeans. G-ing, heard about the old timers o-d-ing young early 80's throwing rocks at the crazy ladies workshipping every word, these low rocking nigga gave me the street raised me up, giving a fuck I thought Jordans and a gold chain was living it up I knew the dopes, the pushers the addicts everybody cut out of class, just to smoke blunts and drink notty. Ain't that funny getting put on to crack money with all the gun play, painting the kettle black hungry a case of beers in the staircase I wasted years some niggas went to theirs, flipping coke as their career. But I'm a rebel stressing to pull out of the heat no doubt, when jeeps jetted out Spinning, never holding out Chorus |
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