My Soul
90 Plays
•07 Oct 2021
Life in Tampa has only gotten worse for me, and I can only blame myself to a certain degree, curses are here, lurking near, only perfect when in fear. so mentally broken I need a nurse for tears, red roses in Eves garden, Fern’s for the peers. I got black choices that make me see the lack of having to persevere, I’ve been workin for years, perkin my ears, I’d I hear any sissy diss me, Fox will call it the murder of the year. I only serve my mental gears, unavoidable like tryna not swerve at a deer. Y’all get toxic like you just chugged burden and beer, I gotta switch the ryhme scheme now, it’s becoming a burden to interfere. Lotta lies and schemes around but no curtains or cheers, life taught me to lie and believe in my passion but now I know I’m not perfect or weird, I’m just an object in life’s scheme of things but I’m refurnished at the skirmishing tiers. But I love sub versing expectations, less checks racin, still enough flirting to wreck the best nations. Heck, I dissect revelations, ya vexed when I suppress the expressed hating . Now some may ask why I rap to boys, mainly because I never had a choice, we all stuck in the same black void, so I might as well express myself with the last of my voice. Attaboy, now you get it, ya finally adapted to the esthetic, for me it was attached to my genetics, cause I ain’t no paper but I rip it on the microphones, spit it like it’s from a psycho’s dome, so fire I lit the booth up, I might go home, but the boy likes those notes, you can’t fight my show, I’m quite loco, but I love myself pschyc, no no. My brain date back to black and white photos. Even with lighter fluid, you can’t ignite my soul, this my dojo. Even dykes know yo ass is odd, you wish you was half of my gold soul, However I’ve been cold, sold my soul ten fold. But I keep my ground like string light poles. Souly to remember where the embers of the street life go. I’ve said soul so much it might be my stone. I’m friends with the green, call me Sully, which door invite you right home, I don’t quite know, music is my only hope, a man with a single penny is wiser then any clown who like to float, on other ideas, I’m the type to gloat, but I pray for the ones who fight for their homes.
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real life nigga 💓 💯💯 💥
Bars: Perfect 💯 Delivery: Perfect 💯 Impression: Perfect 💯
Life in Tampa has only gotten worse for me, and I can only blame myself to a certain degree, curses are here, lurking near, only perfect when in fear. so mentally broken I need a nurse for tears, red roses in Eves garden, Fern’s for the peers. I got black choices that make me see the lack of having to persevere, I’ve been workin for years, perkin my ears, I’d I hear any sissy diss me, Fox will call it the murder of the year. I only serve my mental gears, unavoidable like tryna not swerve at a deer. Y’all get toxic like you just chugged burden and beer, I gotta switch the ryhme scheme now, it’s becoming a burden to interfere. Lotta lies and schemes around but no curtains or cheers, life taught me to lie and believe in my passion but now I know I’m not perfect or weird, I’m just an object in life’s scheme of things but I’m refurnished at the skirmishing tiers. But I love sub versing expectations, less checks racin, still enough flirting to wreck the best nations. Heck, I dissect revelations, ya vexed when I suppress the expressed hating . Now some may ask why I rap to boys, mainly because I never had a choice, we all stuck in the same black void, so I might as well express myself with the last of my voice. Attaboy, now you get it, ya finally adapted to the esthetic, for me it was attached to my genetics, cause I ain’t no paper but I rip it on the microphones, spit it like it’s from a psycho’s dome, so fire I lit the booth up, I might go home, but the boy likes those notes, you can’t fight my show, I’m quite loco, but I love myself pschyc, no no. My brain date back to black and white photos. Even with lighter fluid, you can’t ignite my soul, this my dojo. Even dykes know yo ass is odd, you wish you was half of my gold soul, However I’ve been cold, sold my soul ten fold. But I keep my ground like string light poles. Souly to remember where the embers of the street life go. I’ve said soul so much it might be my stone. I’m friends with the green, call me Sully, which door invite you right home, I don’t quite know, music is my only hope, a man with a single penny is wiser then any clown who like to float, on other ideas, I’m the type to gloat, but I pray for the ones who fight for their homes.
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