Phone in his hand, coffee in his spleen.
The bitches is everything in between
4-3... yea, remember that please
Wears his jeans below his knees
Your heart was false just like the words you said
Pull his hat off hijack his sled
Y’all rambling, talking shit to these bitches
Who shot his best friend for calling the cops his
I got some woods in yellow, to the burbs im ghetto
And yes, his left wrist represents the way that his day go
For honey, i will live, be a father for the kids
Using his music to steer it, sharing his views and his merits
His thoughts disorganized
I’ll be back on the same night
Watch it snap on his neck and laugh at his ass
Rolling while im blowing this stash
GO BACK TO WRITE A SONG ABOUT ANOTHER TOPIC !
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