Grace

[prod. brother moon] Pussy nigga, quit your sobbing I was raised to handle problems we ain't never talk 'em out Used to dribble with a nigga, now I heard he up and killing And he ain't never getting out, but I don't really give no fuck Poppa popping on my momma cause she'd often run her mouth I'm just trying to get that paper and get the fuck up out my house I'm busy pocketing bucks, these niggas talking too much You try to rob me I'm dumping and leaving all of y'all slumped for real Shit, cause greedy niggas got my uncle killed Quiet fools is counted wise so I keep the tongue concealed They wanted something iller, shit I gave 'em something realer I spit that raw shit, fuck the filler I'm kind of sick of stupid niggas steady asking how I do it Shit I knew that I would get it from the start And my momma steady asking where my motherfucking head at I don't answer cause it'd probably break her heart