Z-y-l-o/ the thoughts in my head are problematic
And get a hall pass for this class-act shit
Tryin’ to bag a brother with a super bowl ring
If u smoking with me you better de filling
Gone with out a trace when i deliver coup de grace
Goin’ for the grips every day ’til the grave
Y you bitches think im playing,
But he don't rule a thing
Nigga de fasion bitch im know for setting trends
Cum again, invite 'em if you have any fun friends
Your bitch likely tricking off and bruising up her knees
Fif-tee /nine times till ya de-ceased/ im sick son new form of disease/
Fucking him like my gf emmy eya-eya o
Now i'm laying out at the delano though
Wish i get i could produced by scoop de-ville, no need to take pills
Somalia women ethiopian queens never could tell the difference
GO BACK TO WRITE A SONG ABOUT ANOTHER TOPIC !
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