My records sell, yes sir
Your on fire.. your on fire
Of your image, your touch, your laugh
While i'm rubbing on that ass
Chromed-out mansion in paradise
Fuck your prison, fuck your life
Metaphor, chilling with better whores
My gun your scars, your wrist your calls
Watch me blow like i exhale i excel in this rap shit
Your lyres are cheat so hold your pen open your book-let
Sethered your spine, your movement lines
When i get my hands on nines
Big stacks, no lego bricks
Fuck your cars, fuck your feelings.
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