Signs of the trap,. Morning, time grapejuice out the door gimmick,. On my toes to a new day vision,. lost in the streets of a ambition to make it,. I make bread like saidly to the head,. I couldn't fake it,. I'm running like a tank, dirty dirty,. I scream forgive me how chronic burn me, burn me,.I made it to my homeboy's barbecue gin an juice,. We plot on a way to make goose,. Street hussel an a way game screw,.!!!