Concha de tu madre bitch don't touch my fuckin mota
I ain't gotta tell you they know about me, huh
This is my high rap, you cant even touch my high stacks.
87, brick fare, yeah, i’m talking thirty racks
Shorty i'm just saying that your effort makes you edible
Level never will these niggas ever touch my pedestal
I'm still in touch with my dream even though it seems far
Still knock them out the park like a fucking tow car
Cocktails, fuckin' toss one in your apartment dog
Im starved got you in my pot call it food for thought
Getting in touch with my mental.
So pretentious with no potential
Treat my lyrics like the fucking food you eat and i'll keep you,
Interscope is my fam, so i ain't tryna make no issue
Drinking liquor and i'm looking for some hoes to fuck
To livin in a house with food my stomach
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