The OS Soul

whoa whoa whoa the gold is frozen no soul can hold it my bros are my homies

your throws are chosen choked by a rope then tell my folks when I died in slopes

where the ice cant cry no more damn

 

we caused mass control the thought are after dough rap to the pastors throat

and shake the vocal cords damn I'm not high oh no wow my guy its time to roll

my homies eating casseroles and leaves a massive throw up all

over your passive floor ask the bros they be attacking folks for seeing average jokes

that's an advantage folks reading the pastors word is like heating massive po-tential

hoes be on my dick the traffic has been slow so rapping those verses on my savage quotes

wreaking havoc yo turn you to static fool.