Kill you, shoot the funeral up and harlem shake at your wake
Thinkin that you won, i will never clap or congratulate,
And tell him what i did, and which battle i had won
I kiss you on the forehead, baby just listen
Now look: the change has come
I wouldn´t diss my own mum,
Meka scary, turn his white ass to a jim carrey twin
I retire your life like old folks at their profession,
So i toke on that pipe and don't stop till i'm three
Fuck it its mmg, ima cross of def poetry and potent tree
Gettin good graces, take his money, aa-another one
Stare into the mic and realize i have just won,
We charging you niggas up you like it or not
And plus you know i won’t stop ‘till the day that i drop,
GO BACK TO WRITE A SONG ABOUT ANOTHER TOPIC !
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