You're like the sun and winter, my pot of gold
These faces and places are growing old,
Now the old me is back
St. louis, detroit, chi-town, nap
And if i everest, i won't die old/
I got rhymes for days nigga i'm cold
And copy what's hot until that goes cold
Still moving forward like a 2 year old
That's my old days role plays
Left brain, super 3, creator ace
These wack bitches getting old
Plenty smoke, plenty rolled
When the rhyme itself starts getting old
Fearin what it show you, reality is gold
And i drop top off in a hot cold
Then those bitches who grew old.
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