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Hey, y'all. It's street keys with the poetic thought of the day. Even though the streets are bumpy, lights burn out. Dope things, die with a pipe in them out. Old school buddy's not doing it right. And every day is the same and it's the same every night. I wouldn't shoot you, bro. But I'd shoot that fool if he played me close and tried to test my cool. Every day I wonder just how I'll die
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