Make martin luther tell god i'm the future for heaven's talent
And my tongue stay flicking, over clits and fucking lips and
Dub a.l.e., such a son of a gun
Vodka and soda, pineapple and patron
Cause they right down the street
And kill yourself and your clique
Grab the scissors and saws and
I’m trifling, damn right ignorant
But guarantee all of my women got designer drawers
Punchlines and wordplay and rhyming and my metaphors,
And a fridge and some broccoli
Once as a slave who imagined being free
Shout out my nigga miles
Blood and cuts, ifs and buts
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