R.I.P. Sonny

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MOONi, kursed

3:57

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Goth money
I'm really beefin wit Drac's burner
The lowest form of a thief
Is a cat burglar
(Agh)
Tip-toeing
But the whole while cloning
Jus some Byzantines
To a Roman
Drink a fifth of me
And the words start flowing
Jus some liquid courage
For these dickriders
Blowing on my meat
I guess I'm too hot
Tryna be on ELEVATOR
But you Tupac
That's 2 shots
Friendly-fire, blue balls
Blame it on Puffy
Shit
You might as well blame it on Sonny
And it's funny
When I crash
They judge me
Is that too far
Y'all talking on the mic
Like Call of Devoir
So pardon my French
Cuz I ain't really hard as it gets
But I know the men
Who carry more than pockets of Lint
If goth is ya clique
Then I'll jus bite through cartilages
Yeah I'm on defense
To all these fake fucks on the fence
This shit ain't even hard
Playing Castlevania
What's on your cranium
Why the f*ck you hate my bruh
Thot daughter or a gay son
Ya moms had both
Just another slutty getting fucked
By this bummy GOAT
So RIP to Slutty Sonny
Cuz he did not die
Jus to see you
Make him ugly
The temptation ain't unknown
You make it obvious
All this meditation
Make it hard to trust
But at least I know now
That it's not my thoughts
Outta all the whores
Job Corps is where u found ur thots
Like Tripwxntwake
I swear that when he trip, won't Wake
Depends on age
Ain't even sure if this kid can play
I kid and play
While y'all was at the house parties
Been M.I.A.
But y'all still flying paper planes
And then there's Jay
On DXM he tripped for days
Until I shake
Now Damian gon seal his fate
And I know shake
But I was not some Ronald Reag-
You clowns throw shade
You finna see bout Ronald's rage
And I like drugs
But I know when it's all enough
And I don't suck
The dick of any junkie f*ck
Jus for a taste of it
I ain't McDonald's
But yo bitch love it
Y'all jus two coppers
And I'm McLovin
Y'all on top of me but I'm the seed
Like Sesame, and I'm still on the Street
Y'all jus hand puppets
F*ck around, break some knees
Like I'm Jam Butler
Y'all can't handle the heat
Jus Durant jumping
All the way to Phoenix
But I still fly fire
In skies higher
Shit
I lived thru The Sopranos
And a live Wire
Y'all ain't never been 9-5ers
But still side-eye
Any drugs or rhymes
In my title
So f*ck I look like throwing hands
Wit Aubrey Grahams
Y'all ate balls
But I feel like I tooted all 3 grams
Questioning an 8-ball
Is that really your golden plan
I get outta pocket
But rock it whenever gold come in
So bow slower
Whenever I'm Balboa mode
Catch me playing at the Apollo
While y'all jus broke, alone
And catch me driving the ghost
Like issa space ship
Five years
And you still rode the same dick

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