Fame, money, and girls is what some people desire.
Goadome nikes, the cortazone of the poem writer
Thinkin you're so good cause you got money, cars, and fame,
Yeah they always defend you, look how they say your name
Just like a cannon from the teen in nick
Music is money, money isn't music
Fuck your cars, fuck your feelings.
I'm with your girlfriend eating chips
Thoughts, cause you're an outsider tryna get in brain
Thinkin you're so good cause you got money, cars, and fame,
And mine somewhere bout mars
Got like a hundred cars
Nobody rep for the skins, they busy cheering them stars
Bubbling above the elevated tracks and cars
You can't evade my guns,
3m's on my new balance
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