All I Know

Yeah that’s that shit i’ma spin that back Yeah, I like this shit yo When I start writing, having all-nighters Writing ‘til I feel like I’ve got fucking arthritis Little King Kong, strong song writer I’ll get some shit out my Chest like I’ve got bronchitis Mortifying, open up and then It’s more to fire Horrifying, not quite bipolar but borderline Bruce Lee spitting profusely Gifted like a spruce tree Banging out another verse on loose leaf Blue beast Hanging while I’m soaking up my new seems Switching up my routine taco’s ‘stead of poutine Tried to take a flock of my Canadian geese Duck, I’ll put that goose down Canadian fleece I feel this (In my soul) I got it (In my soul) It comes from (my soul) And this is (my soul) From their filers ‘fences throw in the towel Leave your body singe'n You’ll probably need a fire engine Seven senses playing miles Never give it interest Stressing their opinion It’s in bless their vision Twisting up my escape mission, the lights off Door knock, the weight in my pains Visit the Shell Shock nu buck Timberland Dead stop, the crew cut Jaw head, Johnny the jump to the dreadlock Two jerk chicken and rum Punch the pestilence false prophets fumbling Fun funds to let me just Good play, now it’s a bad run your leg broke Black Benz minus the patrol, the slow poke Paralyzed breathing with no pulse But of course Sit and sip from the safest source cup I keep away from Satan’s course Banking on the better force Outvoted by the people’s choice I feel this (In my soul) I got it (In my soul) It comes from (my soul) And this is (my soul) That last mixtape from Belly was a beast I still got hunger in my belly, I’m a beast Started at the bottom Keep climbing to the peak Underground but still got gold and Diamonds on my teeth Holy smokes feel the spirit That’s the Holy Ghost Life’s a rollercoaster Lucky that I didn’t overdose Sharp and venomous as fuck Watch your cobra boast Fuck with me, you’re comatose Thousands of ‘em over coke Bitches by the boatload Lining up, I keep those But it’s just catch and release If she can’t deep throat I like this new shit, the psycho is adaptable Spectacular tap you on the back And crack your scapula Soul controller drinking Coca-Cola with A broken molar White PS4 with four remote controllers I mass murder with these words There is no shortage 5’7", when I’m right I’m given short notice