Poetry

New Shit

I’m ready for whateva nigga
Deuce Trey. I’m strapped up. Pick the map up
It say how to hit the road hoe
I’m the perfect man
Y’all can’t do better than the perfect man
When I blam the eight, it make blood squirt from heads
I fuck bad hoes. I put in they butts a Percocet
They direct deposit your worthless check
I get money bags, a milli at minimum
I kill mo niggas than that dude at the cinema
Cineplex. I’m on the Internet and I’m outside
I leave the world wit lips. So they mouth wide.

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