Them lames ain't even know the newest planes came out
The underground will dumb it down, revenge will come around,
I'll keep cursing the pastor calling him worse than a cancer
Something like serena mixed with trina, have you seen her
J. cole's her ghost writer
Thoughts of bloody murder.
This is called revenge and it's best served cold
We forever be real, we'll never fold
I call her, no answer
In front of the pastor
Went and started my revenge, took all my bullys to the benge,
Off track and lately i'm on edge, may be back but nearly fallin off the ledge
So i grab her by the hands and hold her down to the bench
So call the fire-bridge and get ready for my revenge
But compliment her tits and then its off to hump her
Except ill be commitin lyrical murder
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