Sick of hard times so i tell em to fall back
My realm is shillack, my wooden floor's got a crack
Rotting in a graveyard garden, six feet deep in your wooden coffin
So i can write about my life of sina couple bottles of gin
I can finally rest in piece and sit in my wooden chair.
We missed you on the charts last week, damn, that's right you wasn't there
I got bars u lil niggas sell ring
Ima just sit and wait my chairs reclining,
I open a door and see demons playin musical chairs
Odd future leaving even niggas in past tense
But a pole position you couldn't hold, not even your own wooden bone
I feel something change in the weather, and i’m home, home, home
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