He wares a linen cloths and a pair of reed sandals
That mean im overflowin all you rappin niggas in cups
Metaphors in every color, these indelible bars
You'll be missing work, and switching lanes, and hitting cars,
Run away from the cars...
The you should look up in the stars
This is how she want to live
Fuck your cars, fuck your feelings.
More props. r.i.p., my poor pops
I feel like i got fifty cars
With reality defeating n leaving scars guns shot from cars
We don't want you with skinny legs and the big ass ass shots
We drive around in million dollar sports cars
That proud feeling we get knowin' that pussy is ours
Whiskey cigars and fast cars?
I be murdering bars
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