Fucking all dem hoes,rapping south
Hundred racks of hundreds in the stash house
I'm chasing money, not the liquor, y'all ain't even close
And y'all talk constantly, about all of your bitches and hoes,
350 on the stove and it's 90 outside
I used to dream of you all day and night
The tables are turned i can't take this
Kay we're back, up all night, kinda pensive
(and go berserk) all night long
Looking so damn right you're wrong
I swear they think i'm crazy
Fuckin hoes thats all free,
Now you all are crazy day to night
When it came to grams it was 90 i fried
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