The price you pay for fuckin' with flowers, just another hour, that bitch done turn'd sour. Hidin' beneath her fake intentions to make you feel power, she ain't thankful for the manhours. I shoulda devour, cop a new cat developin' a new tower, stack that bitch till the heels fall off, your wheels shoulda been my down for tha loft, instead I broke bread feelin' all soft, what you thought of me has never been wrought. You oughta bow down and thank what you got. My pissful promises has brought me down to the lot. You chose what I proposed and left thinkin', bought. It ain't what you buy and what you have, if I was me back then, I would've dropped your ass. Now it's back to mowin' grass, my pockets are the bag, and time is a drag. My new crops finna be dead presidential tags.
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