Pockets probably like fried food
Feeling useless as to a fruit
Jim chose to give his work to smash in dough
Inside your mind is a strange flow,
No days off is time gone, trying to get my paper straight
This aint fake, nor a dream although it may seem strange an deranged,
Once as a slave who imagined being free
And you certainly have no chemistry,
Do just feeling a little sad
Snapple fact: you rather wack
I'm on a strange mission
I know that love it could begin
I'll touch slap her, dap her, plus clap her
Feeling colorless like a 20s picture
But rapper's from fulham get a strange reaction
They label me a backpackin' nigga on fashion
GO BACK TO WRITE A SONG ABOUT ANOTHER TOPIC !
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