I make it seem like i'm a mismatch with a lit match and my homelife is kerosene
I'm god man i don't even have to breathe, but your ass must be satan cause you're actin mean
I'll touch slap her, dap her, plus clap her
You stink like a lit tire
Bic her,never sicker,sticky like a sticker,
And if my mother answer, i'll ask her
Going against me,is like attacking a pack of bic razors with your wrist,
Designer shit, though i’m modest, astonishing to be honest
Straight conch got a nigga feeling seasick, oh shit
Lies ahead of the wrath matched with a tree lit
Now my eyes chinese, keep the loud lit
Y’all niggas don’t worry me at least a bit
Ima lite up your world i flick my bic
I grew up on circuit boys and go-go music
Razor grips, laser spit
I got ak-47's get ya shit lit
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