Fresh to death that bullshit irrelevant
Times like this i remember the hunt
Of a high school kid and his real times
All the time with this glock of mines
No pork on the fork, but it’s white in the pot
Stars interlock, faster then a shot
I practiced till that shit made perfect
One last shot, this time below the belt
Rollin' down the four o five
Cause u went spastic so many times
I took a chance in the dark i shot
I can only imagine, uncle bob
I gotta know if it's real or not
Shot 'em up like i'm a rabid cop./
Untill he hears a pop and gets shot.
Almost cried right on the spot
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