So beat me to the bone
Your son's e.t., he needs to go home
Yeah, you can tell em that i’m home
Music that y'all condone
Yup, hit e.t up on the cell phone
They're telling you too go home
Whip, plane, motions own
I thought van-city was home
Runnin home invasions
When you spill out hits
She goes on in, walks into his home,
You left your nigga on his own
Yo, once stole a row home
I don't need no fucking throne
Runnin home invasions
Well, i have a gram cupcake mix
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