Is money, drugs, hoes, violence washed up routine
If i don’t make it, then somebody tell my son screen
Give it back with a sensitive mouth and some hard knees
Sell drugs, shoot guns, make you yell "oh!", now you pushin up daisies
They don't hear the bark
My depression hit hard/
From this pain and depression.
Go where you ain't been
My rapping moves on ,from the depression
The world should turn as soon as my records spin
And all we lack is communication like service sucks
And he was married to my grandmother for money n drugs
Beaverton my sneaker game although i never be with ducks
Lotta rapper thugs talking bout bitches, money trees, and drugs
GO BACK TO WRITE A SONG ABOUT ANOTHER TOPIC !
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