Got my carry-on but really wish i had a pound with me though
So, what the fuck would you say? it's annoying on the radio,
Uhh, addicts arise, when i arrive
You get so annoying like a stupid wife
Same weed good times with a different scent
Why would i worry? i am forever blessed
And when it come to tight games i'm o.t. with the bitches
You trynna battle me is like hobos bothering with
See me, i’d rather cut let ya body give birth
You put up a front to deal with us, it’s so fake it hurts,
Problem is i shine like two mics under heavy strobe lights
But of course you don't mind when your submitting the prints to the times.
All these little dreams you got, they're not shit
And all you half cock bitches ganna deal with it,
Your bitch fuck us up: every nigga that she meet
Your so fucking annoying i should call you a parakeet,
GO BACK TO WRITE A SONG ABOUT ANOTHER TOPIC !
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