Lighting The Flames Of My Own Personal Hell

The one pulling all them robberies
The boy who’s born from scarecrow
Came up from the slums
Walking product of the ghetto
I can’t feel my face but feeling great as the vice goes
Round and round and pound for pound
Life going in a circle
From pentagrams to Instagram
How I mainstream the 6
Them boys can hate
I got their fate
Suck on my dick
AKs all around me
Wanna die
Pick out a stick
Grave been dug
Load up a slug
Lay him to rest up in a ditch

Southside shorty
Outside early morning
Not a knock
Empty out the Glock dot in front the 40
Turning you into a pouring 40
Or I’ll come back when you’re poor and 40
Take it how you want take it as a warning
Don’t ever ignore me
Hide behind the door
Me and the follas bring the storm
We’ll keep it coming
Mixing up milligrams with millimeters
9 in the chamber
Got 30 inside the heater
Bloody nose I smell the reaper
Smoke surrounds my steps
I’m either choking on breath or reefer
Coughing till my death
I’m eager
Leaving all my fans as grievers