YOUR LEFT, LEFT, LEFT, RIGHT, LEFT.

Late night, kicking back by myself, if you want beef I offer up the dopest cuts, like I was selling stomped on packets out the back of my truck, so shut the fuck up, get in line, hate away cos tommorow becomes yesterday, nothing more to say, nothing more to do, trust no bitch and fear no crew, stuck in a rut, sick like a dog, and I ain't no problem pretending crime is a job.

My DJ is in Canada carving powder, damn, and I ain't talking about just snowboarding man. I put this out for my city, I come harder then I go, I do this for the love, you do it for show. Show respect where due, fuck you. Shapeshifters got me lifted like an elevator, catch me pissing on your Lacoste alligator, like they say, worse to blow up early than later.

So I kick it blind in my Dior robe, no need to get baptised, I'm already stoned, just like Sunday dinner I'm roasting when it comes to beef, leading lambs into wolves teeth, I wield a weapon with a rubber handle, and best bet they ain't fucking stilletto sandals, it's that time of year again, it turned the crew from boys to men.

We might be reckless, I'll rather pick a brick up rather than ya dress, dresses can't smash shop fronts, but the cunt beneath can open doors without stunts.



My confidence high, tolerance low.