My father's dead, well i don't know, we'll never fucking meet
Im calming down and having a rage that i really fucking need
Baby your my dream come true i really want
And my bank account look just like a phone card
I asked you out and you said "yes baby"
Six-fifty, three hundred my shirt free
It's obvious i'm crazy
And you know i love you baby
So my outlook's dim and my house is eventually without any heat
Publicity my enemy and the one thing i really need
Type of life a nigga kill or go to jail for
You wannabe's really need to get under cover/
Real words...elegant: a piece of art
Baby your my dream come true i really want
Go on, suck it up; but hurry, i got nuts to bust
I dont really suck, just need some improvement.
GO BACK TO WRITE A SONG ABOUT ANOTHER TOPIC !
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