Mark Lamont Hill

I should've stayed in school, but at this juncture I got ten dollar bags, fat as Action Bronson And I wanna rap, but I lack the sponsors And half of you niggas never had the hunger to pass the trauma I'm in the trap passing Fanta on the sun on Ashwagandha

Oh my God.

Oh my God.

Yes.

Yes.

Yo, he's going crazy.

I'm with Cole.

I'm with him.

Shots through the glass of the car windshield.

That might have went over your yarmulke.

Cause Hanukkah might be the only event my bars miss for.

And these niggas I'm with are not restless.

Trust me, they done shot at my legs.

Like Brock Lesnar.

Murder for hot.

They're turning to crossdressers.

And if they gotta bring them alive, it costs extra.

If they gotta bring him alive, it costs extra That's what I call a small gesture That's to all of you Pondexters

The smell is chart-topping, heart-throbbing, the dog's barking Sparks popping for the cacao like dark chocolate Call God and he don't answer, they call blocking Out of options, draw a Glock, then start swapping Gunpowder, the gunfire, the harmonics So multiple shots going off, it's called violence Bullets keep passing me by, I'm farsighted The cops watch as I'm stuck lodged in a tree And my trunk lit up like the city they call pocket

Probably hopin' to find some narcotics I get emotional talkin' bout it on Carl Thomas Okay, this might be off-topic But tell St.