Nigga with too much to say, you might make a fool of yourself
But intsead of doing what helps- n' in turn losing my health
Outkast landed, 3 thou was ill
The knowledge of my self still
Confused state of mind, my existence, undefined
Baby, you don’t have to try to read my mind
Nigga 50 million up on these fuck boys
I'm sick of the questions, sick of the choice,
Of better days when you ain't have to settle for whatever played
Can we differentiate the class of the minor state
GO BACK TO WRITE A SONG ABOUT ANOTHER TOPIC !
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