F Bruv

You talkin' bout a secret society But you can't keep the secrets inside ya You'd sell it for some used p***y that ya don't supply on You be holdin' d***s but it's the dildos Not no real stick that you rely on You be goin' to the projects Supplied some weed and everything you use to make what you gon' decide on I don't know what your damned brother done died of But I bet he died before they decided to turn his light on How it's sad how he goin' out and not the one Who you claim you hate & who you got your eyes on Them niggas don't be poppin' sh*t but nothin' but a pothole They gon' say they from the dirty mitten, n***a, what you high on Child when they started sellin' my soul, Now you're worried what a n***a really got his mind on Picture Painting Picasso, writin' poems in order I'll write em' till they bravo, hope them lyrics ain't foreign You probably made my barber insane the way your head lined up for a quarter I ain't like her, I warned her Why she be mad I ignored her I know she won't like a message that I sent And the way they hit her phone, they imported Workin' like she informant, and she won't talk to me formal I'm wonderin' how she knows some of my story Cause she is not my damn supporter You n****s heard it in meetings, I hate you part of the order You worried how they gon' treat me, You On D**k more than Ann Arbor Ain't writin' with a gel or a ball pen, I'm in a room in Woodwind I can't say too much on addys take a pe** to discard em' Light my blunt up with some matches, psychic talk to remark em' Don't have my phone on the charger when I write poems & focused I strap my heart in this armor, they pray I'm feelin' my lowest Was dissed by rappers like Carter, it only right if I say some What you write that with a marker Cause that was your weakest song Not in the market, unreleased is where that shit belongs I"m Walkin' on the song, tip and tappin' with my toes just like the picture was drawn They on my schlong, just to hate They've shown they wanna be my foe Ask to hear my song, you gotta wait just like everyone else Been writin' songs without my mind while I mind myself (while I mind myself) They tryna write my name in stone, they tryna write it theyself They hope they send me to hell, they hope everything about me They hope I ain't doin' well Ya talkin' bout a secret society, but you can't keep the secrets inside ya You'd sell it for some used p***y that you don't supply on You be holdin' d***s but it's the dildos, not no real stick that you rely on You be goin' to the projects, supplied some weed and everything you use to make what you gon' decide on I don't know what your damned brother done died of, but I bet he died before they decided to turn his light on