Ima go until my arm's sore
Who shows her face no more
One day you'll be dead and no more
No ho, acquainted with the floor
No more waiting in a line
But check out how i roll mine
And tell 'em there's no more games,no more
Grew up in the jungle where it's killers at war
Hit the club she drop it low
No more struggling like a widow
No more sad song on pianos
I kill shows and bag more clothes
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