Letter II Myself

Making money off these methods I don't think I should confess it

I just wanna foster blue kids til I'm out these fucking trenches

I'm in love with all these dead men shit I must be fucking gay then

In my head like it's a closet I don't know when I'll come out

Telling kids in my projects "boy don't follow in my route"

Cause when the ceiling gets to falling you gone ask em for handouts

And they might give it to you but most likely make you bounce

Like we're playing basketball they'll tell you that your out of bounds

Double dribble in this life that'll put you in the ground

Please stop making them mistakes you might catch this fucking bout