Dub a.l.e., still a son of a gun
My trophies gleam in a distant sun
Bloody knives chainsaws and machetes
I'm why baby mamas leave
Ross and folarin, couple women
Sitting in my chair relaxing in the sun
I'm fed up, we gotta start teach the children
I strike a match, borderline light the sun
I sit crowned upon the ashen sun
Even when i'm sleep, i got vision
I thought i recognized her
Thoughts of bloody murder.
Bang! bang! came from that movie ring
I can see the sun falling
From an african american stance
This monopoly of bloody fangs,
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