And they say we don't know love
It's just textbook stuff
That they probably be in the closet of old folks
Drinkin' 40's, whippin' shit, and talkin' shit, their overtones,
Shakin' like it's parkinsons from the clitoris of kelly clarkson's dick
Time for you to s u c c u m b, to ma truth and see me big
Actually i like a broad that can bag hoes
Love reefer and love sneaker above those
And when we on the road, bitches follow the tour bus
I aint just spit in this s*** to sound all rough and tough,
Like i went to sierra leone in a homecoming dress
And i'm participatin' in this crazed game of the 2000's,
And 808's and synths, riffs, and guitars, hard, for sure
You know i spit that sick shit and there’s still no cure
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