Waves

In my pastland

I would have panic attacks when I thought about the afterlife

Questioning which religion could've had it right

Went on for a few months until I had a night

Realized I might never see what's always past my sight

I'm insecure spitting shit like it's supposed to blow

I see my niggas put they stickers by the grocery store

Right down the street, they hustling I hope they know

I they slipping off the edge I won't let go the rope

I hold on until both arms snap off

The typa loyalty that I don't even ask for

Not sure if they would do that shit for me right in return