| Probability | Text |
|---|
| 98% | Backing together with rain for 40 days, Aye I like Slain's, but I can't show no pain. My headache, enormous proportions, The size of a bucket, painkillers can't touch it. Show what my little brother's gone. Now I'm torn apart as I stand with the knife. At my heart, we shared the good and the bad times. When walls broke out to the store, it was half time. Remember she came back, yo, And we got beatings with the Hot Wheel Track. I felt the hurt from your own predicament. Lost the scholarship, can't play pro board with torn ligaments. Career suddenly ended, your goal was offended. Suicide, death tips recommended to try black, But you were not versed as we blessed the earth. So let us pour the wine, preventing suicide. So | ▶️ |
| 100% | And I grew up with the hip-hop thing. I used to be able to go to a center jam when I was like nine years old. And jam do the wop the same thing. But now I can't have my seed, you know what I'm saying? If I have a seed, I can't have my seed go to them center jams. Cause they're youths, you understand? And hip-hop is a violent thing. What I'm saying to all the man, them all the real man out there that know what I'm talking about. Just hold down your peace, hold down your knife, go out and boogie, you understand? | ▶️ |
