The hoes, the clothes, you niggas are just like clones
Sifting swiftly slipping with sacred stones
You a game hater, and you call yourself a rolling stone,
For now unknown, this verse hurts worse than any stone thrown
All these grave stones kept in clean little rows,
My block stay hot my wrist stuck on froze
GO BACK TO WRITE A SONG ABOUT ANOTHER TOPIC !
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