Reap The Plate Lyrics

. .
Bacardi sippin' with Remy drippin' in plenty [?]
A artist's mission should be the difference you wish you known us
But shit i'm grown up, grip the spliff like a sticky donut
I'm hittin' home up, to get my mother out that f*cking whorehouse
Tracks can pull your soul out, black men we forever still address it like i stole the blouse
Ain't have to take the gory route, cause, seen homies down that road All them niggas in six feet but they ain't lookin' for gold
I'm tryna tell you take a picture, memorize your [?]
'fore you rockin' price tags in a Prada ghetto
But even mates can get ya, they symbolize your bros
But that's jsut part of the illusion now, can catch me cruisin' down Baltimore
With all of the carnivores
. .

7e49ee36f02b252dfe70e830ed12397a