Uh-huh.
Check it out.
Sure.
War games, the bullet frame.
The size of planet Asia's PA chain.
Howard and Caley's son waving a gun out the Mach 1.
On the west side,
court a homie like Bane and Garcia.
What's beef when knuckles fly with God?
Lungs squeezing, it's duck season.
Smell the rose.
The wood gun handle posing a picture like smoking cylinders.
Instead of God reigning in the fog of smoking mirrors.
Overnight,
one guy told niggas I'm the famous poet and now I am.
It was written I was born in BK on the 14th like Nas.
Did it my way and I wrote poems in skies.
As a song, they would let us a song, yeah.
Secret hidden affair, I put to bed.
Cause gambling and sheets,
niggas lose all at best.
Now I sell the most expensive passports on the dark web.