LYRIC FOR SALE

By Realize AKA g0dBr0th3r

These, streets, littered, wit drugs and medical kits/and the block , still sweaty like a fat man's pits/im still, duckin', these crackas, im allergic to, to Ritz/at, the bottom,of the barrel, is where my throne, sits/where, niggas tote, full clips and pop, pistols like, zits/when I, cut a chick, off, she be throwin, a fit/and, when she hit me with them, papers, its a Ray Lewis, blitz/my haters, wanna, see me dead, tongue out, like Kiss/and have my grave all, tattered up, soakin', in piss/my name, missin' from obituaries, read em, and weep/and when, they come and ask for statements, you ain't, hearin' a peep/but, them coffins and black suits, dog, you can, keep/and, whatever, a man soweth, that too shall, he reap/my enemies, think they pressin', i aint, sweatin', like Keith/I keep, a black 45 and a colt, underneath/my sheets/cause any moment, you can find, yourself, deceased/cause, yo death bed, could end up, being, the front seat/