Bitch, fuck! Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I got a question. How much cooler can I get until I run out of fans? How many fans can I have until they turn on the A.C.? If the A.C. blow up, then I'm TNT. I'm gone. I'm gone and I'm finished. And I ain't see my friends in a minute. I guess that nothing lasts forever. Nothing lasts forever. Nothing sticks together. Sick of sitting in doubt. Please let me figure this out. Shout out to the girls that I let off. For occasional head and always keeping my bed warm. And trying their hardest to keep my head on straight. And keeping me up enough till I had thought I was airborne. How many racks can I write till I get me a chain? How many chains can I wear till I'm considered a slave? How many slaves can it be till Nat Turner will rise? How many riots can it be until them Black Lives Matter? And niggas pick, clack, splatter. That nigga. Life a game of basketball, you better shoot that nigga. Cause if that cop got trippy, he better pull. Cause when I get pulled over, I usually play it cool. Cause I know what I'm driving is usually paid in full. And my ego and possessions will not let me be one. Because I got a mansion. My mansion got some rooms. And rooms got some windows. And my windows got some views. And views get some stares. And my backyard does too. And if you walk to the bottom, you'll probably see a pool. You better not drown. Keep them ten toes up. Cause if them ten toes down, I mean that you fucked up. And that's what I swim in. And if I drown and don't come back. Who's gonna know? And if I crash and don't come back. Who's gonna know? And if I fall and don't come back. Who's gonna know? I'm wondering if I don't come back. Maybe then I won't go. Don't come back. Don't come back. Don't come back. Don't come back. No, no, no.