The blueprint of my creation had God ballin up n sending fists
The fuck do I know? Could name more pornstars than presidents
Mom in my texts saying I’m destined for greatness
I am IF legacy is measured by lameness, I ain’t shit
Could blame my birthplace littered with factories for my hazy thinkin
But I created all these abysses I choose to lay and sink in
Bipolar af, could be happy for a moment then in a second it’d be spite
If I could interview God I guess my biggest question just be “WHY?”
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