Im bout to hit the armory
I'm cold on the cold turkey
The door crack, niggas all black
Turn around im hit ya back
Im nervous, pyramids pointing to skies not disguised on the dollar bill you'll find,
Since my last rhyme - the crime rate ain't declineniggas bustin shots like they lost they mind
Piccolos playing, while a nigga just chilling
Quite gifted, ambitions of life living
Your eyes are amazing
Y you bitches think im playing,
On my pg shit, i ain't finna keep them
Cause im ripping though your stereo system
I'm just saying, i ain't bitching though
And all this snow, i call it infant sorrow
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