I aint the type to get comfortable
Forever i ain't run yet and i never will
Some type of competition
I’m smoother than alopecia skin
I practiced till that shit made perfect
Mind flipped, cerebellum like the script
I'm blatantly sick soon as i'm making a script;
Take a look, to this bullet, now my finger slipped
I know their type, they're fucking petrified
And how you make the darkness seem so bright
They never envisioned a rift, but time was flippin' the script on the brothers
The flow hot nasty like a couple siracha flavored used rubbers/
I once contemplated suicide, and woulda tried
I know their type, they're fucking petrified
GO BACK TO WRITE A SONG ABOUT ANOTHER TOPIC !
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