aight




I spit at ya shoes... gettin tired of ya battles fools//
I know your flows are about as smooth as ridin a Kangaroo//
Like riddin ya baby sis... tryin to Procreate when she's only six//
Ya fam's is trailor trash.. wit a lock down on section eight//
you talk about havin no dates...we know its not cauz your a light weight//'
no tougne... no wonder hes about tha text//
dont worry no one suspects... ya dress like the wild west//
after im done wit you... ya gonna wanna slit ya wrists//
but this bitch cant even swing wit a fist//
I got a hemorrhagic Cyst holdin ya blood so dirty shits turn'n to mud//
wait till that shit flowers and smoke ya up like a bud//
Now you tryin to hide cauz youve lost two to me already...desecrate//
changin yo name wont do shit but lower your interest rate//
!ll shoud'da retried before he came to tha game//
Hes burn'd like his home I set aflame//

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