His melodies are sweet and euphoric
His kicks are violent, 808s aggressive, but
His presence is warm, his smile too,
(So I heard), but
He tends to get paranoid,
His heart is good, but
Someone stole it
So, he fills up the empty space with codeine
It’s cool, that shit was gettin cold anyway.
He can’t get attached, so
He does nyash shopping instead
His plug a pimp,
After the paycheck, it could be Latino, white, chocolate,
It doesn’t matter, whatever he wants
But he goes to church, now and then.
He is a good kid, but
His Glock clumsy
It has a habit of imagining everyone in a coffin.
He is a good kid, that’s what his mother, his friends,
That’s what everyone that knows him would tell you.
Failed to load comments