He told me he could help me write rhymes
When i get my hands on nines
My father hates me, this it what it seems to be
Niggas fuck with your boy, i can make you some money
He was never there for me
Ridin’ round, and this bitch dirty
He tried to murk me, he's too weak, he need to rehearse
Where my soldiers at, no longer drug dealers
Fuck anybody that hates the show, if you hate than just go
I caught a felony loving the way the guns blow
He made me shudder no more, he forages happiness for my soul
I ain't superstitious i make all these broads split my pole
GO BACK TO WRITE A SONG ABOUT ANOTHER TOPIC !
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