And now the present got you struggling
But who knows what's right, but life's something
I hate bitches snitches stab them with syringes throw em in ditches and holes fuck hoes/
I get more respect from the motherfuckin' dope manthe grammy's and american music shows
Though she pop me low, lookin’ for dat beaver
They trade semen as their holes fill up by the liter
I ain't gotta tell you they know about me, huh
Holes in they sweater, from my lyrical beretta
Everything i wanted never seem so close
And walk through shotgun homes filled with bullet holes,
But i cant help but like...
Always strap so i was alright
To wet you niggas up like vagina holes
Took me a while just to write those
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