His melodies are sweet and euphoric

His kicks are violent, 808s aggressive, but

His presence is warm, his smile too,

(So I heard), but

He tends to get paranoid,

His heart is good, but

Someone stole it

So, he fills up the empty space with codeine

It’s cool, that shit was gettin cold anyway.

He can’t get attached, so

He does nyash shopping instead

His plug a pimp,

After the paycheck, it could be Latino, white, chocolate,

It doesn’t matter, whatever he wants

But he goes to church, now and then.

He is a good kid, but

His Glock clumsy

It has a habit of imagining everyone in a coffin.

He is a good kid, that’s what his mother, his friends,

That’s what everyone that knows him would tell you.