Hasty

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Syndrome

A syndrome is a set of medical signs and symptoms that are correlated with each other and, often, with a particular disease or disorder. The word derives from the Greek σύνδρομον, meaning "concurrence". In some instances, a syndrome is so closely linked with a pathogenesis or cause that the words syndrome, disease, and disorder end up being used interchangeably for them. This is especially true of inherited syndromes. For example, Down syndrome, Wolf–Hirschhorn syndrome, and Andersen syndrome are disorders with known pathogeneses, so each is more than just a set of signs and symptoms, despite the syndrome nomenclature. In other instances, a syndrome is not specific to only one disease. For example, toxic shock syndrome can be caused by various toxins; premoto… more »

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I remember days at my grandma's house
Sleeping on the couch, whole fam on the ground
Dirty lil' bitch in the back talk down
But her friend sent a pic with her ass all out
Got em' all mad Get a bag! You broke!
I been off that It's sad, you know?
Seen you on the gram Stand back Bitch pose!
I'm about to shoot a mag Click, clack You Vogue!
Said you don't need a scrub That's why you a stank hoe!
I don't do the club Rather pull up to the bank hoe
You won't get a crumb from me Pockets on that Panko
Shawty want the love Feeling up like it's the tank low
Lame hoe Better lay low
Looking like a peso Keeping it a bank note
Better take notes I been all about a bank roll
Check the pay roll I'm an a-hole, but I ain't broke!
Lately I been like f*ck you pay me
Hate me all you want Bitch, go crazy
Ladies all on my dick too hasty
Save me! All of them want my baby
Daily mother fuckers talk fugazi
Shady Talk shit? Bitch, 180
Face me! Nothing you say gon' phase me
Wake me when somebody don't betray me
Long time coming and I'm better than I ever been
And I got my team on my back like a letter man
They ain't wanna let him in Left me in the rain with the mic
Something like I was a weatherman
Running up the paper like the pacer
Torn ripped Chuck Taylors to fits tailored
Treat a bitch like a drink sir Never chase her
F*ck the game I could knock it up the way I'm putting in labor
Now, run it back one time
I was down bad, but it runs in the blood line
Shoot it out back Think it's done, but it ducked by
I would shout Dad, but nobody once come by
Never been a tough guy
Never sold work Boy I did it Yeah I bust mine
But got hella friends moving tree like a mudslide
Bussing mother fuckers like a table when it's lunch time
So without rap, you would see me in the front lines
I'm that mother fucker used to being in the background
No one understood me, now they feel me like a pat down
Once was a rookie but got a bag now
Hip-hop champ! Need the belt like a bad child
No time for bitches who wanna act out
Or these mother fuckers befriending me for a hand out!
What I need is when I look into that crowd
To see you head bob like a bitch when I glance down
I know you mad! I know you still want me back!
I know you keeping them tabs on all of my raps
That shit is pathetic in fact
That shit is embarrassing
Talk to yo therapist
You and yo mama can suck a fat hairy dick!
Where was the parenting?
Choke on yo arrogance
Me and yo money? There ain't no comparison

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