long nights

 

 

Montana black in the backpack

rustoleum paint bitch yeah you know rack that

fuck around might get ya head cracked

mind swerving from the fucking vodka sippin

trippin on every damn word im spittin life is imaginary false incrimination

caught me ducking though this motha fucking hatred life is nothing but false

accusations so im sitting here smoking on these trichomes so much smoke man

i think my minds gone, reppin nothing but my city and the fucking time zone

N.Y.C

 

 

Hash cones look like rhinestones

im surfing over chrome

smoke another toke for every soul that i know

never front, never lie, anything goes, but no ropes inside, sever every

tie from your teletubbie lives , this is how you kick the grind, listen while i spit

my grime, you wishing we could split the shine, blessed inscriptions,

wicked lines, sticking with the sickness or get viciously kicked behide,

you missed the line, im mister mime, fucking bitches, did the time, getting

frisky with the sign his bricks with this vicious rhyme..