My high school girlfriend dykin', my side bitch ain't take her pill
From this ink on the tablet when it leaks, know i'm ill,
The way she walks and causes a fuss
Once it's ink gets on its pages
The third one is mixed, white and black
Hoping for the cashes , fat pad
We the moody, gucci, louis and pucci men
Because i ran out of ink in my pen
Ink, feather, and paper cuts
I call it speaking tongues
I couldnt write if i bled ink
Now i'm playin' solitaire patient
I'll push carts just to buy a fuckin launch pad/
Aye jay, 8 grand skins gonna take that
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