Or your designer clothes littering the floor,
Right now at 23 i ain't mad at them reds no more
Your heart was false just like the words you said
The web you created in your head
When you rapping how you rapping, bitches pack up and leave
Become a coach designer of body bags and coca leaves
He should of never fucked around with a sick ass nigga like methey call my name out and niggas run
An explosion on the mic as i weave a woven web of beauty, so seldom does it happen,
Smokin' white widow like the web to a spider,
I've been so thorough, that's what i boast for
Dont wear designer brands cause i can't afford em
Rectum, i'm like a chromosome i always x them
The third one is mixed, white and black
In their designer jean's back
Replaced by freak shit i am currently down for
All my shit designer and i’m still a minor
GO BACK TO WRITE A SONG ABOUT ANOTHER TOPIC !
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