Purgatory (feat. Sleepy 444)

It's white Runtz on the counter, finna spark and cough up all of that
My partner ringing and I don't think I'ma call him back
The clock is screaming in my ear and I'm just falling back
Trying not to treat all of my problems like a laundromat
How come I don't get no sleep sober
Even 'fore the week's over
I'm still feeling weakened but I'm seen a soldier
I'm okay 'till I'm alone but I don't want nobody
Lock myself in my thoughts as if I ain't got no hobbies
Getting tired of making songs about my glockie
'Cause I love my lil' machete when it chop a nigga hockey
Ain't been out in days and now my skin's a little chalky
So I'm really turning "caine", and feeling "lido" when I'm not me
Chopped up with Prada, we tryna get out Orlando
City too on that fuck-shit, it got me stacking my ammo
If I don't see a Grammy by the time I'm twenty-three
I'm back to hitting licks at bandos, stashing, blitz his bricks that's handled, ayy

Money on the bed, keep it safe with me
Only thing that I chase that I can replace with ease
Broke out a Smith and that bitch is gon' sing like Sammy
If you snake to me get a nigga collared, he can't stay with me
If I die tonight, don't let them niggas at my funeral
Ash me, then pass me in a grabba, then seclude the roach
Put me next to my brother so I can view him close
I'll be at peace with that piece of me, 'fore I choose a road

Running out the front door, straight to the chicken
Everything I grinded for, it was never given
Riding for my bros, never trusting these women
All these people cold-hearted since we was children
I don't give a fuck, I'm just getting straight to baggin
Nothing out here funny, why the fuck is you laughin
Yes, bitch, I don't care, thanks for fucking asking
They all love my style, that's why they get to jacking
I just woke up, and they all day talking nonsense
Bitch, what the fuck you talking bout what's your problems
I just keep stackin' give a fuck about the nonsense
What the fuck you talking give a fuck about your problems
I could really care less about the next jit
I'm in the stu', plotting on my next hit
I'm original but this ain't no Netflix
I could make a couple bands off a few clips

Money on the bed, keep it safe with me
Only thing that I chase that I can replace with ease
Broke out a Smith and that bitch is gon' sing like Sammy
If you snake to me get a nigga collared, he can't stay with me
If I die tonight, don't let them niggas at my funeral
Ash me, then pass me in a grabba, then seclude the roach
Put me next to my brother so I can view him close
I'll be at peace with that piece of me, 'fore I choose a road



Credits
Writer(s): Warrick Dawsey
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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