My girls and my sbs, got a thing for pink boxes
In the clouds looking down, i ain't even in a rush
Like that bron-bron? i had that long time ago
Dip, go! tip toe into the mist, slow..
I just think we need one night, can't decide if i came right
Like her tight bright pink ripe smitten that i have no invite,
J. cole runnin' late
Can't think straight rant pink crate
So she went across the street, gave him a kiss
Like a savage ravages the pink abyss
I wonder when they'll see thru the fake mist
Yo, i'm fucking goldilocks up in the forest
The dead society of a poet
Eye all pink, and cut to shit,
Enter a mist, twist, barrel role and all that shit.
They say, trojans never break but it ain't that
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