Shout out to joe and chris, it's a.p on my wrist
You can't face th' brutal honest
Just to go to liv on a sunday
You ain't even call me on my birthday
My father's dead, well i don't know, we'll never fucking meet
Don't like my birthday gifts so just give me back the receipt
18 year sentence with no parole
Purify that woman soul
Give me a blue benz, red porsche, red range
It feels like december 8th
Hopin' that my niggas see
Your birthday and anniversary
GO BACK TO WRITE A SONG ABOUT ANOTHER TOPIC !
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