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by Cam'ron

Lemme tell y'all a lil' story about myself
This right here is a true story, check it out though

Ulcers hurt my salary, alter my personality
Give it to you real, I can't feed my culture no fallacy
You know my attitude, arrogant, cocky rude
Eatin' off papi food, used to be a stocky dude
Weighed two-twenty, wit two honies, I move monie
It's true dummy, dunny need a new tummy
I become berserk, it was no fun to work
Everyday my stomach hurt, rippin' off my undershirt
The pain was no comparison, stomach started cherishin'
Throwin' up in public, yo fuck it, it was embarrassin'
Regurgitatin', green, yellow, burgundy, Boom
But came my urgency soon, (what) the emergency room (oh)
In there, no salvage, treated like a cold savage
They said pimpin symptoms, huh, a dope addicts
There you have it, but they ain't find no heroin
Coke, crack, dope, just weed, but that's my medicine

My baby mama, mama, and my grandma
Say that I'm too gordy (too gordy)
Word to my blue maurys
This is a true story
I got stomach pain, don't matter sun or rain
Thought that it went away,
Uh oh, here it come again

Never mind stuntin', dime puffin, doc spent his time frontin'
He like a bad detective, he ain't find nothin'
Besides that though, I can't enjoy a movie, dinner (why is that?)
My son growin' up, I'm lookin' like the movie thinner
I'm thinkin' suicide, do or die, sit and cry (oh)
What hurt my baby moms askin' if I'm gettin' high
(what the fuck you talkin' about?)
She gonna play me a thug, I told the lady I love
If it ain't hustlin' ma, please don't relate me to drugs (at all)
I'm loosin' weight though, everyday pounds and muscles
Gotta get off my ass, hit some towns and hustle
Bein' sick, huh, it get sickenin' you know
I was too sick to do shows, but still equipped to move O's
You know my attitude, get it how I get it
If I can shoot, I turn around (then) I'm off my pivot
And oops, I thought I had it mapped
Weight started to gain again, it was just a game my friend
Dame mane I pained again


Ay yo, god body, I'm hard bodied, word mommy, vanishin'
Hadda go low, the male clinic, Minnesota
I couldn't get cake, a rock in a hard place
For me, that's a odd place, I'm only here by God's grace
Like a lab rat, them tests dishonor Cam
Ultrasound, MIR, CAT scan, sonogram
Laparoscopy, inoscopy, I be stressed (I be stressed)
The prognosis, diagnosed, IBS
And that's irritable bowel child, I hadda spit it y'all
Kick to y'all, so it ain't my fault if I shit on y'all
Get it, get it, get it, get it?

[Chorus: x2]


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