I'm from Bmore
The place where cats scared to take a detour
Where papers often clash with passion
Cause you claim to need more
No heart - was red hot but it's a cinder now
You ascending now
had beef, now it's all foul
and no one argues with a dead cow
they only eat em
You a meal on a plate
for richie on a huge estate
dead smack in the hood
flaunting it cause you could
Three fifths, Three fifths
Brains are so polluted
Empty rowhouses leave my sight diluted
Was never restituted
Rather burned & looted
Every day becomes monotonous
Because you gotta make more from your stock tips?
I'd rather it be the apocalypse
then keep dealing with your pile of fibs!
How foul is this?
Chickens in the foulest nation
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