Lyrics:
the pockets thickin Fuck police and no remorse for the beasts That's lost on the streets, that pistol whip a priest for a crosspiece I'm lost chief, runnin
the pockets thickin Fuck police and no remorse for the beasts That's lost on the streets, that pistol whip a priest for a crosspiece I'm lost chief, runnin
of sighs. The cross-piece mine, the weight to bear. The gibbet yours, you stabbed it down Through the earth into my heart, And so received your thorny crown.
to the attics My drip static Haven't decided yet gon get rich off a adlip That ho lavish Roll it up it's a perfect crosspiece We forgive your sins they really
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