A creative blend of lyrics and choruses from an artist who really hasn't found a definitive style of writing. A realistic approach to stories of happiness, long
I know there's pictures that he's hiding he just didn't provide em'
So his picture frames are like his verse: there's just nothing inside em'
I ain't b*** ing but wheres your f*** ing pictures broham
Who knew Yahoo! had a witness protection program
This Long Island artist is just some Long Island garbage
You got piles of trash. And I just pile drive the hardest
Be honest I went to your myspace bio and skimmed through it
Saw you were family with Katastrofic but ya blew it
Cuz instead of being a good friend you went and let your man
enter the GRBS he got ripped you f*** ing knew it
Cuz instead of being a good friend you went and let your man
rap in a can with a string tied through it
Yo you gotta realize I'm straight fire you luke warm
Yo you nothing in my eyes just a baby, a new born
You a shower a July I'm a level 3 storm
That's why you f*** ed in my eyes like some P.O.V. porn
And I never seen his girl but she's mad hit up
Difference between L.I. girls and trash: trash gets picked up
I ain't never seen his face but just envision it
Nappy f*** ing beard skin red from him itching it
Booty hole stretched out. Raw from dudes digging it
Ass hair down low shaved all intricate
An image of a catcher's mitt carved right into it
Easier for his man's dick whenever he be pitching it
F*** ing fag You call yourself the Rhetoric?
The art of speaking or writing effectively
but in you it ain't so prevailent
So where's the f*** ing relevance. I don't see no evidence
Should I call myself tall, black, and rugged for the hell of it?
No. Call me the fireman I'll drive to Long Island
And put out the flames in that whack circle you rhyming in
Come back later and punch your sister's hyman in
Listen to my slur, Jerkins went and got high again
