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Self

 

Maybe this the album you listen to in your car

When you driving home late at night

Really questioning every god, religion, Kanye, bitches

Maybe this is the entrance before you get to the river

A heaven before the heathen no reason for you to like me

Maybe this your wifey just wanting a clean divorce

The baby ain’t really yours, this really for babies teething

And chicken wings under-seasoned

Y’all really thought a bitch couldn’t rap, huh?

Maybe this your answer for that, a crack era

The Reagan administration that niggas are still scared of

Nah actually this is for me

This one for TT at the lake serving the mac and the cheese

This one a small apology for all the calls that I screened

 

Mr. Money Man, Mr. Every Day He Got Me

Mr. Wifing Me Down, Mr. Me-Love, Mr. Miyagi

Miscellaneous, Mr. Molly Inside My Sake

Incredible, incredible emptiness in my body

Heaven’s only four-feet tall, I set my ringer to it

Fucked your rapper homie, now his ass is making better music

My pussy teachin ninth-grade English

My pussy wrote a thesis on colonialism

In conversation with a marginal system in love with Jesus

And y’all still thought a bitch couldn’t rap huh?

Maybe this your answer for that: good pussy

I know niggas only talk about money and good pussy