Quiet confession, the system's applyin' the pressure
My mind is guessin'; is livin' and dyin' a lesson?
But not to be obliged with the mirage of cars
Take me off track from what the Gods focus on hard
Laid up, smokin' cigars, motionin' maids
To bring me toast and eggs kosher
Ice chokers and wolves to smoke ya
My wisdom culture lives in ultra madness
Devoted Coach bag bitch
Broke, the average nigga's hopes to get mad rich
But what's the purpose?
Only the Gods can watch the Earth twist
I'm physically trapped down on the surface
With all the crack merchants, snakes and serpents
Foul jakes that search us
Clowns with four pounds, this ain't a circus
🐐🐐
