My momma see my page, said baby you a winner
Now at this tender age, Lord knows that I'm finna
I'm dealing with this rage, and abortions got me pent up
We could all die tonight, Lord knows that I'm


Look, Lord forgive me for all my bad decisions
My pot of gold was never hidden underground, it was packed in a bowl
With a woman by my side, couple snacks from the store
Perfecting every line, shit was left from the floor
My momma tell me "Get a job," but employment ain't employing us
Not with my record, right stage exit
Momma, I'm a king, but they pay me peasant
He tell me that I'm fired and he say it so pleasant
The hood under fire, local news not present
They focused on Trayvon, and they focused on the President
I guess it's unimportant in my residence
See they never say they love you in the present tense
I think I'm quitting school, I'mma be in debt
And work fast food, shit I'm sorry I ain't made it yet


My momma see my page, said baby you a winner
Now at this tender age, Lord knows that I'm finna
I'm dealing with this rage, and abortions got me pent up
We could all die tonight, Lord knows that I'm


I try to, I try to talk 'bout my problems, but that shit don't ever
Don't never fucking come out right... don't never fucking
Don't never fucking come out right when I try to


Ay, was suicide from the top of the swing set
Maybe I could fly but I ain't got my wings yet
They tell me, "Get a job, nigga grow up, the bills still piled
They don't care if you don't blow up, you dropping out of college, huh
You unemployed so I know you spitting polished, huh
You the first born, how you still your momma problem child?
Britney was a bitch, she always said that you was selfish
So go and buy your bitch, that's how you do it when you wealthy"
Oh, chlamydiae, I thought you said that you was healthy
I'm tryna make it big, God, they said that you would help me
Say it so selfless yet pray it so selfish
I'm scared to go to Hell, smoke it to the piece
Piece landed me in jail, movies with a bitch
Bitch pregnant as hell, I was happier in jail


Devil on my shoulders, tell me no, I shouldn't get it
I probably made a baby off in that Honda Civic
After I dropped my baby off in that Honda Civic
I probably should repeat it, I know you didn't get it

Composição: Colaboração e revisão: Odhara Valadares

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