Frowned tears, downed beers, use my pen for ideas,
Look, i'm back like niggas on a bus
Then you look like a fucking fool
And even your friends at school.
And this is dc where the rich see the poor
Do you need to go back to school?
These i ideas that i speak in my own songs
Music is my first, but i contemplate divorce
That whatever it creates it will land in the head
Coat hangers on a bed/ ideas passing, keeping fed/
But now i'm in high school
Iced out, okay cool
Or just another one of my black jesus traps
My rhyme ideas come out so fast i need four pads
I can't stand the idiotic ideas of peoples these days
I thought i was out atlanta, but god damn i'm outta space
GO BACK TO WRITE A SONG ABOUT ANOTHER TOPIC !
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