I can´t, I got a batch on me, nigga I seen my homie from third grade, he took me back to rememberin´ All the cold nights shiverin´, rice crispy, no sugar
I relate to the trenches, I adapt for my bro-
-way through the summer I was cool with all they mamas, really turned me a monster I couldn´t say what I wanted to, told them, "Get ??? my mama" (Alhamdulillah)
I´m down bad, just made up rumors Funeral be paid all cash ´cause they don´t ??? See my mama cryin´ out real tears for the service Tryna prove how real they is, it made me nervous Askin´ ???, this ain´t a Suburban