This pride aint goin` anywhere unless you drive it away
I plan on getting back *censored* the worst way
Holla at ya boy young roy’s in the kill shit
So is you bout it, i really doubt it, doubt it/
Yes we bout it bout it/
Still sick, real shit
And, i aint talking bout the paper kind
Now walk to it with your land mind
It aint like you need me to let your world shine
In a turtle neck, thermal jeans, spit purple wine
What you talkin' 'bout if it ain't 'bout the money?
Fuck it its mmg, ima cross of def poetry and potent tree
Oh how she love the gangstas, they love them green ones
And don’t worry bout my name, you gon know it soon enough...
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