Originally Posted by
brotherdoobie
I wrote my raps, sir! Shall I finish your earlier rap...
And he never sleeps just spies with it
Dice in his eyes, loves life 'cause he likes when it dies
With a baking soda soul, he cough up pleasure
Clothes made out of dollar bills that he sewed together
He knows he's clever, jail is his house
All the liquor that's poured out goes right in his mouth
Rides around on a stray bullet
With prostitutes, pimps, dope dealers and killers tied to it to pull it
A TV in his head, stripper slides down his legs
And he's known to run around with the feds
Out there"
Throw your mic in the trash, please?
That is all.
-bd
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