You can never tell me that i'm not hungry
I want it all... all of the money
Every time i walk inside the house, she always tend to start shit
And nothing else to get money for all their corporations off it,
Syllables, skill-a-holic (kill 'em all with)
Five-star dishes, food for thought bitches
Because if you get all that money, you should give it right back,
Binded between, carryin' the flag for an area that drag
And name another new nigga wit a sicker twitter follow
Ok, you probably think i get ‘em all with the cash flow
Step in the club and it's all eyes, champagne i sip mine
I school em with my bars and kill em all like it was columbine
The irony in that is that i ain't even that, but you put it those pages
But as rude and indecent as all hell syllables, killaholic (kill 'em all with)
After we kill em all phonic's will be the final cats to spit
Drivin and typin, not payin attention, missin they next exit
GO BACK TO WRITE A SONG ABOUT ANOTHER TOPIC !
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