Ya-Bish

No one can win it ain't a game, baby momma had us running late, the last shot you make, is the last shot you take, bitch made written all over your face, female tendency's all in his traits, I'm just trying to hustle up a bag, with two different kinds of mags, one in the back of the pad, and one on my lap, No love for a pussy cat, soft spoken and fragile hand's, whey he can't fill out his pants, and if I threw him a chance, he probably wouldnt catch the pass, see we got issues that can't be fixed, you crossed the line and I can't forget, and won't forgive, but that's the way you made it bitch, so that's the way it is, I don't think you understand that I can't let you live. now you know, tic toc out of time.