Lyrics:
is so un-ironed it could be a mountain range My shoes, the rotting flesh of a mange My shirt is so un-ironed it could be a mountain range And I
unironed clothes I see them decrease No witch doctor Do magic with words Mix up lyrical potions They come back for more Not with rap beef Last nigga who
and un-ironed sleeve would be a point of contention for my image of me. But believe in your self the unassured self says to its self Because if you believe, so
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