| Probability | Text |
|---|
| 77% | Back up on my toes about my two 11s, my name is cocaine And that's 1-8-7, we like the dynamic duo in the Batmobile So when we get through, we like to send a 96 to Dennyville And we be sharp like our uncle Eric used to be Lemma Zintint with the tech on the seat Yo, givin' the player haters migraines, chest pains It's the original, the unforgettable Cause I be mobbin' through the streets Man, I be still gettin' high sippin' VSO peeps So no pain, no gain, yeah, baby's over free And they call me cocaine with some gold, don't quit it | ▶️ |
| 84% | Holding for the day, you know that isn't right. With the training of the service, they only pick you up on. A shaker hangs, and then he hops and pieces burn. But for now, you stay in all this hell that's in burn. Every now and then, she's just a stupor-haired, false-sealed, false-sealed, dead-night-goer, dead-night-goer, free-goer, true-goer, hardly no way. But say it, but say it, if she's a queen, but her baby's clean, but her holy ghost has said, you're so mean, you're so coy, you're so angry, you're so vague, contributing us, probably be friends. Isn't this sad, is this how we all end? Bouncy, bouncy, she's just a bad, bad, bouncy, bouncy, she's just a bad, bad, bouncy, bouncy, she's just a bad, bad, bouncy. | ▶️ |
