Of the book of your life
I just shake dice
A little more of me through generation of a debate of hatred
Every time i walk inside the house, she always tend to start shit
Thoughts of immortality
Six-fifty, three hundred my shirt free
There ain't no genie jars to grant what your petty wishes are
Weekend trippin to wherever, only heaven is far
Couple of shots and a glass of wine.
Probably wave goodbye at the same time
Now this is what i call an evening
Tired of feeling wired of dealing
Your yard, full of pieces of lard
This for my niggas that really rap hard
Ya ain't killers ya’ll got hundred yard dash guns
Most of y'all drop quick cause of impatience,
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