Rhyming Trey
Step back be rational.
Sit back roll this hash and blow.
A/C cold in the lac sittin low.
Niggas gone hate cuz the game so throwed
Chromed out glock is the steel I hold
Dead right now but present with the Lord.
Life cut short like a ginsu sword.
Speak soft nigga I'm not no broad.
Quick wit the hands I put'em in his place
Thinking to myself I'm not catching no case.
Tears drop down when he gave up the ghost
Blood on my hands and weed on my clothes
Another nigga die now white men boast.
Messed up game but a playa still chose.
Rocks on my wrist and on my ear lobes.
Hit the next right on the creep, down low
Red, blue lights on the same back road
Same ole story as the jail bars close
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