wake up to a dawn of golden dreams the day day of the silver kings of the hills and I'm still trill trapped out and looking so mean so fine so fresh you got me think in bout dat body getting tired and needy g to rest ya chest rest ya body lean back on me and and it's solid and your naughty pipe down dat erotica sound gettin wit it yeah made her a permeate mound in a quite place stress free with no sound no sound so profound so loud smoking dat shit that killed a million dreams working these lil schemes inch by inch off with ya head i know i didn't miss my shells are right here on the floor yeah hot lead still warm in dis body so what you mean what you mean brutalized and stress free finesse me smoking that good kush and indoe haze put you back in dat all black Cadillac as those paper stacks and plastic demon tracks leads us all to a place where we been before closed door and looking to score a score of a man's putter image that's been ripped apart shredded and tore it's like getting pulled in all directions at the same time killin the hype killin ya fame killin anything that moves and send them back to hell and I was already there waiting antisapating the arrival of a soul that is hesitating complicated the end is here catch fire my dear as we all burn just the same