Keep a glock in my fanni pack guess he want that smoke never know playing tic tac toe he gone lose his bro put a scope on my ak 7 boy I count eleven like I’m Devon he gone see through heaven you gone hear these words I’m spreading Talk about the rap and the fame its lie hiding from the people but you always acting shy running from the streets and the gang you my guy up on the chats doesn’t mean I’ll fly sitting in my house while my grandma whipping pie up against your brother but still gunna cry down undercover but he still wonder why came into his house no his brother gunna die