ones they missin. No book, boy we handle bitches. Nigga I rap clothes off yo women. Clothes I smoke, we’re all in one city. Gold and chrome, 13 inches. Bikes on the dashboard, 16 switches. Car full
all along, now, it's smoke The things we've written in it. Never really happened. All the things we've written in it. Never really happened And all of the people come and gone. Never really lived
