"It's a mess when we enter the dance floor, We've come here to tipple, to fork out some bucks. No troubles, man, no contention. Or you gonna bleed. Do you get that?
Seine Heights. Middle finger up on the dance floor. Keep your spirits up, MC; you're not on the guest list. Street doesn't sadden me: humans do. How can we trust them? They have killed the Christ."
Who's putting it back, guess it At the horizon always one or two cop into the civilian Nigga, I hided my loot in two or three cities I take with me two or three hoes in two or three islands
I'm not presenting me, you know who I follow I'm not plesenting, you know who follows me I've red my future in a bowl of rice B two o nine two I