The Dog Pound

I'm sick of the busta motherfuckers talking out they neck Trippin and ripping the pack putting the tech up to my head Creepin up outta the dirt I'm begging for my death 99 kicking back waiting to be laid to rest Sticky in the blunt Inhaling it straight into my lungs I walk around my hoodie up Rollin and smoking a double dutch Smoking until i'm concust I'm in the yata hitting the clutch Spinning around and i'm spilling they guts Turnin ya clique into dust Stumble into the function 99 a dime a dozen I be smoking on tha russian With the clique and we get to busting Bitch i'm buzzing i ain't coming down Until i'm the ground 99 rising up outta the dirt So he could smoke another pound I'm sick of these busta mf always hit my phone I'd rather be snorting away all of my funds on my own I'm sick of living this life i putting the burner up to my dome Steadily pulling it back now it's down to hell i go Sick of these fake fuck boys all in my city I feel 50 yeah it be many men that be steadily fucking wishing Death upon me now I be itching for an incision into my vision Feel like committing homicide, envy anyone fuckin with life I don't get it uh Imma cut slow right into ya front lobe Yellow mellow when I'm pissing up on ya front door Paper bag full of shit how it smell tho Hello fellow I'm gonna write you in my death note Yagami the light in me I want to see a a little genocide today No hide and seek come find you in ya sleep and Sneak into yo mind Creeping up out the slime Feeding up on the mice Cutting up all my ties I don't Give a fuck bout about you busta motherfuckers I don't Want nothing but the smoke get all in my lungs and I'm gon Pour a cup a someone's innards into my stomach I know Zed and Saliva never get tired we like two lines of coke