They must have amnesia, they forgot that I’m him. That Burberry backwoods pack hitting that ♥♥♥♥♥ smell like a Hellcat V8

We smoking ♥♥♥♥ in a glass pipe, blowing the Lord’s bubbles

I’m sick in the head

I’m on them Broward county Tic-Tacs, I’m on them Georgetown Geronimoes

I’m on them Nashville nibblers

I left my Margiela’s in the Benz trunk, I’ll have to stunt on them next time

I don’t give a ♥♥♥♥ if I go blind, I don’t need to see the price tag anyways

I’m high on 12 Jason Bournes, looking to beat the ♥♥♥ out of a thick, fresh oak

We smoking filtered crack you stupid piece of ♥♥♥♥, I’ll ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ kill you

Call that ♥♥♥♥♥ The Matrix, cause I’m in this ♥♥♥♥♥ and I can’t get out

Last guy who ran off on the pack got choked out by some Givenchy gloves. The last thing he ever saw was the price tag on them. Slowly faded into darkness, and I let the archangels take him. I need more Sequoia banshee boogers