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