either u aint trust me or u aint trust yo self teeterin the fiction of addiction, beer, reefer n the reaper slight sight of the sythe, need greenery 6 sick C sections for the opportunity to breath when you had seconds now you have seconds, pissin off yo protections you need to riff out different methods to whom this song roams to i got a confession seein my home boys messin may make me project em on my own boys, thru my depression but ive been shown to sow potent code, like which pockets make me feel the most alone i, ditch a lone, bitch no switches jus switched i ignited shit, on ignant shit i still got them stitches minimal sleep, in rem in chem stemin on steams Abismal i needa blow some weed since the blow done thats E from the A no criminal, EA no one similar, no subliminals, the show closed fuck A&E, A&R recieved mp3's stead of deading a guy w an AR this me uh my homies aint chronies, these motifes coated to portray who i rode with for days, sold for motives what happend in fourth grade, wholly old emotions only one half has musically owned commotion n short comings